


Your Worship

by LuxaLucifer



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, Pairing in later chapters, inquisitor - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-16
Updated: 2017-03-21
Packaged: 2018-03-30 21:25:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 99,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3952333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuxaLucifer/pseuds/LuxaLucifer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Breach has opened, the Divine is dead, the Conclave destroyed, and the savior of Thedas is an elven prostitute. Will Thedas accept the help Jethann has to give? Does he even have the ability to give it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is the prologue for my story that has Jethann as Inquisitor- I mean, you probably figured, but I just wanted to elaborate a bit. Jethann's always been one of my favorite NPCs, and I wanted to expand his character beyond what we get in canon, since there is so little. Basically, his scene in The First Sacrifice is one snapshot of his life, and this story is about what becomes of him after the events of DA2. There will probably be a lot of anti-sex worker language, most specifically the word 'whore', because that's a term both Jethann and others use to refer to himself, so I want my readers to know that I do not condone such language at any point, including the contexts it is used in text.
> 
> The prologue will be quite a bit shorter than the other chapters. Hope you enjoy the fic.

All these noble people coming together for a noble purpose, and Jethann was their whore.

It wasn't a terrible fate, of course. He did feel a bit guilty for soiling the Temple of Sacred Ashes like this- but when he was told he'd be paid in sovereigns, not silvers, the offer was too tempting to say no. If someone's interests extending to fucking in a sacred area, it wasn't his place to judge.

When he was done with his work, he was told to leave, and as fast as possible. It wouldn't do, he was told, for the Chantry to find someone like him in the building. A condescending grin right after he'd had his hands clutching at Jethann, fingers clawing as he gasped his release. He'd seen it a thousand times.

So he'd put his clothes back on and left, rubbing the sovereigns together in his fingers to quench his annoyance. Ever since the Rose had laid him off, finding work had been getting harder and harder. He'd never expected he'd leave the Free Marches in the first place, but he'd spent too many months almost starving to do anything else.

He resisted the temptation to whistle as he walked through the hall, shirt only half buttoned. He didn't care if anyone saw him, really, but he supposed it would be smarter not to draw undue attention. Didn't want some Chantry nag telling him how he should live his life.

He stopped walking, eyes drawn to a door to the left of him. It was shaking, almost bursting open, green light glowing past the edges.

Don't do it, he told himself. Don't you dare go near that.

He couldn't help it. He crept toward the door, opening it slightly and peeking through. When he saw what was within, he thrust it open and rushed forward.

"Help!"

"What's going on here?" he said loudly, the sight of the terrified Divine filling his vision.

"Run while you can! Warn them!"

"Kill the elf."

Just like that, everything was changed.

* * *

 

When she saw him walk out of the Breach, Cassandra thought he looked more powerful than anyone she had ever seen. In that moment, she feared him.

When they found him, he was nearly dead. Cassandra thought she might kill him herself. To murder the Divine- to kill all the people at the Conclave- to break the world itself- she wanted to wrap her hands around his neck and get it done with.

She didn't because she was a Seeker and the Right Hand of the Divine. She didn't because a part of her wondered if the bruised and burned man she carried to the apostate mage could really have been behind all this. She didn't because of those few seconds where his blue eyes had opened and had filled with terror.

She would find out the cause behind the Divine's death one way or the other.


	2. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my friends audburrito (and her mother!) and zazozaliad on tumblr for betaing this fic for me- it's a whopper of a first chapter, but I think it's pretty decent. Warnings for anti-sex worker language and mild violence. Hope you like it. Think it'll help you get a feel for what I'm going for here.

When he woke he was in some kind of prison cell. He'd never been in one before. Some of his friends from the Rose had, for one petty crime or another, but he knew this was nothing like them. The air felt ancient and unused, the walls slick with underground grime. He shivered.

He was fairly certain that his friends from the Rose had never had four or five armed guards pointing swords mere inches away from them. He trembled with fear and confusion as the shock of it all wore off. There was hatred in those soldiers' eyes. What had he done to make them feel that way?

He shut his eyes, missing the entrance of two women as his composure slipped. Where was he? What in Andraste's name was going to happen to him?

"Tell me why we shouldn't kill you now," said a harsh voice, shocking him out of his thoughts. "The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead. Except for you."

The Conclave was- but that couldn't be right. He'd just been there. Everyone had been alive then. There was no way they could be- if she meant everyone then that included the Divine- the thought was horrible, and he opened his eyes to see the two women that stood over him. He clenched his fists, polished fingernails digging into his palms.

"You think I did it," he said finally, the thought hitting him like a hard rock thrown from a fair distance. He hazarded a glance up and saw the black-haired woman glowering at him.

"Explain this," she snarled, grabbing his palm roughly. He yelled in protest, but it died down when he saw the glowing green light pulsing from his palm. He stared at the mark in horror.

"I can't," he whispered, trying to pull up his façade, because when he let that drop these women would see right through him.

"What do you mean you can't?" snarled the black-haired woman, pulling him up by the collar.

"I don't know what that is or how it got there," he said, getting angry in return. "I have no idea what's going on! I wasn't even supposed to be-"

"You're lying!"

So this was how he died. He'd expected to be strangled or beaten to death in some dark alley. It was the fate most of the people he knew would have, after all.

"We need him, Cassandra," said the other woman.

That's when he knew it was a trick. No one needed him.

He swallowed. "I don't understand."

"Do you remember what happened? How this began?"

He tried. He did. "I remember running. There was…a woman. She…" He shook his head, no idea after that. All he could really remember was the pain the explosion had caused him. The remnant of the rift was still with him, sending jolts into him every time he moved. What was happening to him?

"Go to the forward camp, Leliana. I will take him to the rift," said the woman, Cassandra, to the other.

Then he was being pulled up, strong hands dragging him with her. This Cassandra wasn't exactly gentle, he was finding out.

"What did happen?" he asked.

"It will be easier to show you," she said. When he looked up in the outside air he audibly gasped at the huge green break in the sky, a swirling vortex of energy that he couldn't begin to understand.

"We call it the Breach," she said in that thick accent of hers. Nevarran, from the sound of it. He hadn't fucked a lot of Nevarrans, but it was fairly distinctive. He was thankful none of the ones he had been with into necrophilia in the bedroom. However much he was paid for a job was never enough for that kind of shit.

"It's a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour," she continued. "It's not the only such rift, but it's the largest. All were caused by the explosion at the conclave."

"An explosion can do that?" he gasped, heart thrumming in fear at the word 'demons.'

"This one did," she replied. "Unless we act the Breach may grow until it swallows the world. Each time the Breach expands, your mark does, and it is killing you. It may be the key to stopping all this, but there isn't much time."

"This isn't right," he protested, narrowing his eyes. "I'm not anyone. I didn't do anything, I don't know how to do this kind of stuff."

"If you were at the Conclave, you were someone," she said, her certainty obvious.

He rolled his eyes. "Oh honey, you don't even know how wrong you are. Fine, I'll do what I can to help. Can't promise it'll be much, though. I've never fought before, not a day in my life."

She looked taken aback at that. "Thank you for trying. You sound sincere. There will be a trial, that is all I can promise."

A trial. Against a city elf. What a joke. His fate was sealed.

She led him through a throng of people. His bravado fell away as boos and hisses surrounded him. Loud muttering hit his hearing, no doubt at least partially because of his race. He held his head up high, glaring at anyone who looked at him. Maker's balls, they didn't even know he was a prostitute. If- when- that got out, shit would get bad; he was sure.

"They have decided your guilt. They need it. The people of Haven mourn our Most Holy, Divine Justinia, head of the Chantry. The Conclave was hers. It was a chance for peace between the peace between the mages and the Templars. She brought their leaders together, but she is dead, and so are they."

Cassandra sighed. She had dark circles under her eyes. Obviously this had not been easy on her. Jethann found himself not caring as she cut the bindings on his hands.

"We need to test the mark on your hand on a smaller target," said Cassandra, walking forward.

Jethann shivered in the cold air as he followed her. He was wearing a pair of plain pants and the remnants of his shirt, which had been torn and ripped beyond repair. There was snow everywhere, and the air was harsh on his chest.

Cassandra didn't seem to notice. That, or she didn't care. He crossed his arms and didn't take another step forward.

"What is wrong?" said Cassandra, turning back in obvious annoyance.

"I'm cold," he said pointedly. "It's freezing out here. You want me to follow you with this excuse for a shirt on?"

She sighed, furrowing her brow. "Where am I supposed to find you a shirt?"

He threw his hands up. "I don't know! You're the smart one, right? I'm just the prisoner. Apparently the prisoner doomed to get frostbite on his nipples."

She masked her horror quickly, he'd give her that. "Check that box. If there isn't one in there, you're out of luck."

He liked her voice despite himself. He winked and did what she said, cold fingers fumbling at the crate in front of him. Finally she took pity and kicked it open for him. Inside were several small figurines, some gold, and a thick woolen shirt. As a bonus, there was a ridiculous hat.

He shrugged the ruined shirt off his bruised shoulders and pulled the wool one on instead. Scratchy but warm. He handed the hat to Cassandra.

"To protect your head," he said with a smirk.

She scowled and snatched it from him. "Now you come."

"If you say so," he said, fingering the sovereigns in his pocket. If he died in the next few minutes, at least he'd die with cash.

He followed her down the stone bridge, not paying much attention to where they were going as he stared at the mark on his hand. What was going to happen to him? He hoped there wasn't a lot of torture involved. Honestly, he hoped there was no torture involved.

He barely heard Cassandra tell someone to open a gate as he followed her off the bridge and onto a real path. Several steps down the path the rift changed- he could feel it in his hand, exploding with pain. He fell to his knees, gasping harshly as Cassandra helped him back up.

"The rifts are getting stronger," she said. Something like that. There was a stinging buzzing pain in his head, like the headaches he used to get at the Rose. It made it hard to listen properly.

"How did I survive that blast?" he said, wondering how he'd lived when just being near the horrible Breach hurt him so much.

"They say you stepped out of a rift and fell unconscious," said Cassandra.

"Wouldn't be the first time," he said, smirking.

She glared at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He shifted uncomfortably. "I meant alcohol," he snapped. "Not some big secret. I meant passing out from alcohol. Maker, you don't even care, do you? What this is doing to- you haven't even asked me for my name."

She blinked in surprise at him. "We haven't, have we? To everyone right now you're simply the man who killed the Divine."

"The elf, you mean," he said, kicking a hard lump of snow. "Never mind that I didn't kill the damn Divine."

"Oh, so you remember?"

"Honey, I couldn't kill the Divine if I tried," he said, trudging forward.

She was silent for a time after that. They passed frozen plants and stone ridges. Before this madness this had been a well-made path, He'd been on it before, coming to the damned place. He wished he'd never laid eyes on Haven.

"What is your name?"

"Jethann," he said, passing a pile of burning wood. "When I get killed up here, remember that much, got it?"

He glanced back just in time to see her nod slightly. Kind of her. He almost snorted, but decided it wasn't wise to piss her off too much.

When they turned the corner and started to walk across the next bridge, it broke beneath their feet. He let out a terrified shriek as they tumbled to the hard ice below, red blossoming in his vision and onto his shirt both. He doubled over in pain, fingers shaking as he felt his skin. He had a bad cut or two, and when he took breaths in everything hurt, felt wrong. A broken rib, probably. Maybe more.

"Stay behind me," shouted Cassandra. He looked up and yelled in terror once again, scrambling backward as two creatures from the Fade approached. Cassandra met one in battle with her blade, but she couldn't stop the other, green and ghostly, from approaching him. His fingers were getting scraped bloody by the ice but he didn't care, he kept scooting backwards until his fingers hit something else, something cold and smooth. A dagger. He looked and saw that there were two.

With one in either hand Jethann stood shakily, biting his lip because of the pain in his chest. The creature lashed a long arm at him, and he moved back to avoid it. He did the same in return with a dagger, catching it in its ghostly chest. That seemed to do some damage, so Jethann hit it again. It let out an otherworldly scream, so he moved to the side and slashed at it, bolstered by his success. It died, fizzling into nonexistence, just as Cassandra finished hers off.

"Drop your weapon. Now."

His triumphant smile was lost at the anger in her expression and the sword in her hand. He immediately dropped the daggers, letting them clatter on the ice.

"You say you don't know how to fight, but we found a dagger on your person when you came out of the rift," she said. "Why did you lie?"

"I've never had to use it," he said, hands in the air. "Not in a long time, at least. And it's for short range. When someone I'm servicing is hurting me. It was just for my safety. See, look, I put my weapons down."

"What do you mean by servicing?"

He lifted his head slightly in early defense. "You never asked me what I did, so I never told you. I'm a prostitute. Have been for a long time."

The look of shock on her face was so exquisite Jethann wished he could have saved it for special occasions. "You're a…"

"Prostitute," he replied. "I'm nobody, like I said. I don't even know how to use these weapons."

She took a deep breath, visibly unsettled, as she sheathed her sword. "Well, even prostitutes need to be able to protect themselves. Pick those daggers up. I can't protect you at all times."

He dropped his smile once more. "But this…this was a fluke. Are you sure you can't protect me?"

"I am sure," she said. "You really do not know how to fight?"

"I really don't," he said, grabbing the daggers with care not to upset his injury. Cassandra saw his pain and offered a health potion, which he drank fast, grimacing at the taste. It took away the pain but not the injury, he noticed. "Not all of us need to fight, you know," he said, following her up a snowy bank. "Isn't that what you soldiers are for? To protect us common folk?"

"How old are you?" she asked, eyebrows raised.

"Old enough," he said.

They passed a body on their way up the frozen river. He paused to pull the hat off the corpse's head, stuffing it over his own hair. At her look of distaste he shrugged and said, "It's cold out here, if you hadn't noticed."

The next several minutes were a blur. They had to fight more enemies, each successful attack making him more certain he was about to be killed. This was not his way, all this violence. He'd spent his entire life avoiding that kind of shit, but here he was, attacking every demon he saw without mercy. They walked along the river, sometimes stopping so he could pick up a spilled bag of coin. Cassandra could scowl, but this was more money than he'd ever seen in his life. All at once, anyway.

They passed several bodies on the way. That could have been him. By all rights, it should have been him. By the time Cassandra told him they were getting close to the rift, his chest was hurting again and the steps built into the mountain were tiring him quickly. This whole 'helping' thing was exhausting.

Suddenly they had arrived at some sort of structure, probably part of the old temple, where people were fighting against more of the demons. There was a sort of greenish clear hole in the sky, and Jethann knew that must be what Cassandra meant by a rift. Were the demons coming from that?

He steeled himself and helped Cassandra fight. He wasn't very good, that much was obvious even to his untrained eyes, but he tried to stay close to her and help injure or slow down her targets enough that she could kill them. When the demons were all dead an elf standing close to him grabbed his arm and raised his hand so that it was next to the rift in the sky.

"Quickly, before more come through!"

Jethann let out a noise of fear as the elf thrust his hand up, all the light funneling into the mark on his hand. Seconds later the rift was shut, the sky the same as it had always been before the world had gone to shit.

"What did you do?" he said, snatching his hand back and glaring at the bald elf in front of him.

"I did nothing. The credit is yours," he said, smiling slightly.

Jethann rolled his eyes. "I didn't put this thing on my hand. So if we're going to play that game, it's the mark the credit belongs to."

"You didn't?" said the bald elf, tilting his head slightly. Jethann did not approve of his clothing. Had the man lived outside his entire life? Maybe Jethann would spend some of his new coin clothing him properly. The elf's worn clothing and the strange way he stood, looking like an awkward stick insect, bothered Jethann. Didn't he know he wasn't supposed to just let his arms hang there?

"I didn't," he said, rolling his eyes. "Whether or not anyone here believes me. How did you do that?"

"Whatever magic opened the Breach also put that mark on your hand," said the bald elf. "I theorized that the Mark might be able to close the rifts in the sky. I was right."

"So it could close the Breach?" said Cassandra, stepping forward eagerly.

"Possibly," said the bald elf, who seemed to be enjoying himself. "It seems you hold the key to our salvation."

Jethann let out a bark of laughter and crossed his arms. "How do you feel about that, Cassandra, knowing what you do about me?"

She wasn't given time to reply because of the dwarf that approached them, settling his beloved crossbow back into its holster. Jethann's mouth fell open in shock.

"Good to know! Here I thought we'd be ass deep in demons forever," said a familiar voice, responding to the bit about the Breach.

Jethann uncrossed his arms and put his hands on his hips, ignoring the jolt of pain from the hand with the mark. "Varric Tethras," he said, his chest hurting in a different sort of way. He'd been trying to leave Kirkwall in the past, but events like this made it hard. It had been nearly four years but he still missed his city.

"Jethann?" said Varric, equally surprised. "You're kidding me, right? Andraste's balls, kid, what're you doing out here?"

"Apparently being the key to the world's salvation," he said, laughing.

Cassandra looked about ready to blow. "How do you know each other?"

"I told you about him, Seeker," said Varric. "He knew Ninette, one of the first women to be killed by Hawke's mother's murderer."

"Maker," said Jethann softly. "That was a long time ago." He quickly shook himself out of his short reverie, realizing this was not the time.

"That's him?" said Cassandra. "So he really is a whore?"

"Prostitute," he corrected sharply. "Unless you feel like calling me knife-ear as well."

The bald elf looked interested, but didn't say anything about it, for which Jethann was grateful. He was having to pay attention on enough fronts as it was.

"Yes, he is," said Varric. "And a good man, too, if I remember right."

Jethann let out a bark of laughter. "You don't know me, Tethras. All I ever did was beat you at a few rounds of Diamondback."

"You're too bloody good at it, what can I say?"

"They call it the whore's game for a reason," said Jethann, winking at Cassandra. She opened her mouth in indignation.

"He can say it," said Varric. "It's his life. Andraste's tits, next thing you know you really will be calling him a knife-ear."

"This is ridiculous," she ground out. "We need to get going."

"Good," said Varric. "I'll join you."

"Absolutely n-"

"You'll need me, Seeker," he said, and even Jethann could see the seriousness behind the dwarf's smile. "You haven't been in the valley. Your soldiers aren't in control anymore."

"Fine," she said, obviously displeased.

"My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions," said the bald elf. "I am pleased to see you still live."

"He means, 'I kept that mark from killing you while you slept'," added Varric.

Jethann's eyes flicked to the staff on Solas's back.

He didn't know much about magic. He did know that mages were oppressed. He'd heard a lot of talk about it- what had happened in Kirkwall and why it had gone down like that. It had needed to, many said. It needing to happen didn't stop him from losing his job, though. He was nervous about mages despite knowing that mages were people just like him. Still, he shouldn't let that show. He didn't want to be an asshole. Idunna had been a decent person before getting hauled off for practicing blood magic, after all.

"Thank you," he said, usual snark subdued.

"Thank me if we manage to close the Breach without killing you in the process," said Solas, still smiling slightly. "Cassandra, you should know the magic involved here is unlike any I have seen. Your prisoner is no mage. I find it hard to imagine any mage having this kind of power."

Jethann snorted. "You seriously thought I could be a mage?"

Cassandra ignored him, replying to Solas with, "Understood. We need to get to the forward camp quickly."

"Come on, kid," said Varric, reaching up to pat Jethann on the back. "I know this must be hard for you."

Hearing those words helped, somehow. He stopped for a moment, letting Solas and Cassandra walk ahead, shutting his eyes. He was scared, more scared than he had been in his entire life. That Varric understood, even a little, made him feel infinitely better.

"Ready," he said softly.

He followed Cassandra and the others down a mountain path, jumping over a wooden fence to do so. He wasn't much of a jumper, truth be told. He also wasn't really into this whole fighting thing, but here he was, doing it to save the world. If he thought about it too much his heart might burst.

He ignored the sounds of explosions and continued on the path with them, skirting the edge of the slippery rock as they curved forward. When he let go of a breath it was visible in the cold air, making him shiver.

"Demons ahead!" shouted Solas.

"Glad you brought me now, Seeker?" yelled Varric.

Jethann slipped down a harsh slope and unsheathed the daggers he'd found, which were, now that he looked at them, nicked and rather old. He winced at the return of some of the pain in his rib and waited for Cassandra to run past him to join the battle, employing his earlier strategy of trying to weaken or finish off her enemies. That, or distracting them until she could get them or Solas and Varric took care of them from afar.

The battle took place on a frozen lake, which frightened him. Any second he could be hurled down into its depths. Not exactly how he wanted to die. Soon enough, however, it was over, and he was the only one breathing hard. Of course he was.

"Do you think there's anyone in those houses?" he asked, putting the weapons away. He liked that these demons didn't bleed. Made him feel less like he was hurting something.

"I hope not," said Varric. "One of them is on fire, if you haven't noticed."

"Don't you think we should check them out?" said Jethann, frowning. "To make sure no one's trapped?"

"We don't have time," said Cassandra.

Jethann went to the burning house first. There was no one inside, not that he could see. The difference between the cold outside and the fire inside the house surprised him, and he covered his mouth with his arm to block the smoke. He peeked his head in further, spotting a bag of gold and grabbing it quickly before retreating.

"Nothing here," he said, smiling. "They got out."

"Not with their money, I notice," said Cassandra critically.

"No one in the other house," said Varric, coming up behind Jethann. "I found you some coin though, kid."

He dropped a pouch into Jethann's hand. "Nice," he said appreciatively.

He ignored any critical looks he got and stuffed the money in his pocket as they climbed up the stone stairs. Any adrenaline in Jethann's bloodstream was beginning to wear off, and he was tired. He couldn't do this for much longer.

"So….you are innocent, I assume?" said Varric as they passed a ruined wall.

"I don't remember," he replied honestly.

"That'll get you every time. Should have spun a story."

"That's what you would have done," said Cassandra.

"It's more believable! And less prone to end in premature execution."

Jethann snorted under his breath and they continued onwards up the mountain. A few fights and burning carts later and they were finally approaching the forward camp. There, Jethann was forced to use the mark on his hand to seal another rift.

"The rift is gone! Open the gate!"

They'd finally arrived at the forward camp. Jethann wanted nothing more to sit down and rest, but he knew that wasn't an option. He rubbed his cold ears and walked right up to who turned out to be the people they were looking for.

"Ah, here they come," said a man with a Chantry outfit and a scowl. He was bent over a desk, but straightened when they approached. Not a pleasant man, by the look of him. The kind who'd take out all his anger on his prostitute. He knew the type.

"You made it. Chancellor Roderick, this is-" began the woman from the interrogation room. Jethann smiled at her, wondering if it would put her off guard. He couldn't afford to be rude, not to just about anyone except the lowest street urchin. His position in the world was not a high one.

"I know who he is! As Grand Chancellor of the Chantry, I hereby order you to take this criminal to Val Royeaux to face execution."

Well, that was that.

"You order me? You are a glorified clerk! A bureaucrat!" said Cassandra, each word tearing into the man.

"You are a thug, but a thug who supposedly serves the chantry!" spat Roderick in return.

"We serve the Most Holy, Chancellor, as you well know," said Leliana.

"Justinia is dead! We must elect a replacement, and obey her orders on the matter!"

Jethann sighed loudly. "I'm standing right here, you know. So, am I going to be executed or not?"

"You shouldn't even be here!" said Roderick, turning to Jethann in anger. He stared at Jethann for an uncomfortable moment before looking back at Cassandra.

"Call a retreat, Seeker. Our position here is hopeless," he said, gritting his teeth.

"We can stop this before it's too late," said Cassandra, who obviously meant to use Jethann's mark.

"How? You won't survive long enough to reach the Temple, even with all your soldiers."

"We must get to the Temple. It's the quickest route."

"But not the safest. Our forces can charge as a distraction while we go through the mountains," said Leliana, speaking up, eyes watchful under her purple hood.

"We lost contact with an entire squad on that path. It's too risky," Cassandra countered.

"Listen to me. Abandon this now before more lives are lost!"

Just then, something big moved in the Breach and the mark on Jethann's hand pulsed. He grabbed it, shutting his eyes from the brief but strong pain.

"How do you think we should proceed?" said Cassandra, turning to him.

Jethann pointed to himself incredulously. "You're joking, right?" You're asking me?"

"You have the mark," pointed out Solas helpfully.

"And you are the one we must keep alive," continued Cassandra. "Since we cannot agree on our own…"

"…You're going to ask the prostitute who's never had a day of fighting experience in his life," finished Jethann, crossing his arms. Leliana's expression hardly changed, but Roderick's certainly did.

"What did he just call himself? Are you trusting lives to this whore?"

"We are, yes," said Leliana sharply. "So what's it to be?"

"Mountain path," said Jethann, shrugging. On their heads be it. "I want to avoid as much fighting as possible."

"So he's a coward now?" said Roderick.

"He's never fought a day in his life," said Varric. "Last time I checked, you're not holding a weapon."

Roderick flushed red at that.

"Leliana, bring everyone left in the valley. Everyone."

"On your head be the consequences, Seeker."

Jethann watched Cassandra's face as they walked away. She was risking a lot on him.

* * *

 

If Jethann had thought he was tired before, he had had no idea what was in store. The wind as they climbed up the mountain made his ears so numb he thought they were going to freeze and fall off like that man he'd known who'd gotten stuck in a snowstorm.

After much climbing and silent misery on Jethann's part, they reached a large stone building built into the side of the mountain. Without much further ado, he began to climb it.

"The path to the tunnel should be just ahead."

Jethann thought he heard more, something about a mining operation, but it was hard to tell in the cold. He pushed on without saying a word- he'd never been so high up in his life.

When they reached the temple, the respite of the wind was tempered by the demons they had to fight. Fighting here was worse than the icy lake, he thought, with the threat of falling back down the mountain present in his mind.

There was little to loot and lots to see, if Jethann had been of a mind to look. As it was he passed the pretty icicles without a second thought. This day had gone on too long already. He found a slightly better knife in a side room and some coin on top of a box, but those were his only detours before they left the small mining area and went back into the cold.

They passed the bodies of the soldiers on the way out, a foreboding sign for what was ahead. Jethann guessed it would be a fade rift and- surprise! He was right. It was a short fight, but no less terrifying for him than any of the others.

"Sealed, as before. You are becoming quite proficient at this." The smile Solas shot him seemed a bit fake. Jethann wondered whether this guy had something special against him or just the same old.

"Let's hope it works on the big one," said Varric.

"Thank the Maker you finally arrived, Lady Cassandra. I don't think we could have held out much longer," said the lieutenant they'd rescued, a woman with a helmet on that covered most of her face.

"Thank the prisoner, Lieutenant. He insisted we come this way," replied Cassandra.

"The prisoner?" said the woman, obviously shocked.

"They insisted that I choose," said Jethann. "You don't have to thank me for anything."

"You have my gratitude regardless," said the woman, saluting at him. He played nice and smiled back.

"The way into the valley behind us is clear for the moment. Go, while you still can," ordered Cassandra.

"At once. Quickly, let's move!" A few seconds later and the four of them were alone again.

"The path ahead seems to be clear of demons as well," said Solas.

"Let's move, before that changes," replied Cassandra. "Down the ladder, that seems to be the way to the Temple."

"Oh boy," said Jethann under his breath. "I can't wait."

Jethann didn't really listen as Varric and Solas talked about the tear in the Veil. He didn't fully understand it, for one. He didn't know anything about magic or the world of demons, and he would have been content to stay ignorant if the world hadn't decided to come crashing down around him.

They were approaching the Breach fast. He avoided looking through it, concentrating on the ground. Stay on the path, go down the steps, go straight. Now down the steep rocky slope, not looking at the glowing rocks, not looking at anything but the ground.

When he glanced up, the first thing he saw was a corpse, frozen in a scream and completely burnt. He stumbled backwards in horror. When he looked around, he realized that they were standing in the black ashes of a ruin. There were frozen corpses everywhere.

"That is where you walked out of the Fade and our soldiers found you," said Cassandra, almost reverently. "They say a woman was in the Rift behind you. No one knows who she was."

"She certainly wasn't my mother," replied Jethann absently, stepping around a burnt corpse still aflame with determination not to vomit. He had to get through this day. This day and no more.

They passed a body on the way into a path. Jethann didn't get near it. He wasn't going to loot anyone, not here. It felt wrong.

He turned a corner and saw several more corpses, burnt until unrecognizable. He made himself look up. What he saw didn't put him at rest- the Breach, the closest he'd seen it, right up and in his face. He swallowed hard.

"The Breach is a long way up," said Varric, patting Jethann on the back as he passed him.

"You're here. Thank the Maker," said Leliana, hurrying up behind them.

"Leliana, have your men take up positions around the temple," said Cassandra. She turned to Jethann. "This is your chance to end this. Are you ready?"

"I think I'm going to throw up," was all Jethann could manage.

Cassandra made a disgusted noise.

"I mean, I'm going to try," he amended, feeling inadequate and rather unwanted.

"This rift was the first, and it is the key," said Solas, speaking up. "Seal it, and perhaps we seal the breach."

"Let us find a way down, then, and be careful," said Cassandra, pushing Jethann forward none too gently. He glared at her back as she walked away. He'd already said he would go.

"Now is the hour of our victory. Bring forth the sacrifice," spoke a new voice, loud and deep and very scary.

"Who in Andraste's name is that?" muttered Jethann as he looked for a way down, walking on a path to the right and going down the steps there.

"What are we hearing?" echoed Cassandra.

"At a guess, the person who created the Breach," said Solas. "You understand what I'm saying, yes?"

Jethann stopped where he was standing. "Was that directed to me? Do you have something to say to me? Because I get what's going on, thanks. You don't have to tell me."

"We can discuss it later, perhaps," said Solas, raising an eyebrow coolly.

Jethann turned his back on Solas. "If I decide I want to, maybe we will," he replied, walking down the long path with more purpose than before, hardly paying mind to the red lyrium that infected the ground or the glowing walls.

"You know this stuff is red lyrium, Seeker."

Jethann didn't listen to the rest of the conversation, except the 'don't touch it' part. He skirted as far from it as he could after that.

"Keep the sacrifice still," said the deep, sonorous voice booming from the rift.

"Someone! Help me!" The Divine's pain was palpable.

"That's Divine Justinia's voice," said Cassandra.

They walked down the last set of stairs. Jethann's heart was practically in his throat. This rift was big. Really big. He lifted his hand to examine it, and a voice came out of the rift.

"Someone help me!"

"What's going on here?" Him. That was his voice. He still didn't remember it happening, but he knew himself when he heard it. So he really had been there.

"That was your voice. Most Holy called out to you. But…" Cassandra sounded as bewildered as he was.

Then the rift expanded into a vision. Jethann saw the Divine and a strange shadowy figure and then, himself, wearing clothes he remembered putting on that morning and larger shadows under his eyes than he would have liked.

"What's going on here?" Jethann's image said.

"Run while you can…warn them!" said the Divine.

"We have an intruder. Slay the elf."

The vision ended then, and Jethann let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.

"You were there," said Cassandra. "Who attacked? And the Divine, is she…? Was this vision true? What are we seeing?"

"I don't remember, but I can promise you I didn't attack," he said. "Not usually my thing, if you've noticed."

"They're echoes of what happened here. The Fade bleeds into this place," said Solas, with no regard to Jethann's words. He had a feeling there was going to be a lot of that with this guy.

"This rift is not sealed, but it is closed, albeit temporarily," continued the bald mage. "I believe that with the mark, the rift can be opened, properly and safely. However, opening the rift will likely attract attention from the other side."

"That means demons," concluded Cassandra. She looked back to the troops and shouted, "Stand ready!"

Everyone around switched into battle mode, and Jethann unsheathed his daggers. He almost felt comfortable with doing that, he'd done it so many times today.

"Now!"

When the Pride Demon burst through the Fade horns and scales and frightening stature and all, Jethann thought his chest was going to burst into two. How was he supposed to defeat that? It laughed, making him feel even worse. There was no way.

Cassandra had to remind him, in a voice low with frustration, to disrupt the rift. He ran forward and lifted his hand to the air, feeling the energy flow from him. When it stopped, the Pride Demon was on the rocky ground. He stayed near the rift after that, jabbing his knives at enemies who strayed too near and letting the others handle the main fight. Whenever he could he disrupted the rift. Eventually it was enough to slay the demon, and the fight was essentially over.

"Now! Seal the rift! Do it."

He raised his hand to the rift and watched the green glow travel from his hand to the sky. Then everything was blazed with light, and the world went dark.


	3. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At long last, chapter two is up! NSFW due to a sex scene in the middle, wouldn’t say its hugely explicit, but it’s there. Hope you like it!

When Jethann woke, he was lying in a comfortable bed. He didn’t open his eyes, letting himself pretend for a brief moment he was back at The Blooming Rose. But daydreams did no one a service, so he gave it up and decided it was time to get up.

The pain from his rib was gone completely, but it was replaced with a myriad of other aches. He groaned slightly when he sat up, rubbing his eyes and realizing there was a girl in the room with him.

That was about when she realized he was awake, and she dropped her box with a scared “Oh!”

“Hey there,” he said, smiling. She was obviously nervous, so he was trying to put her at ease. It didn’t seem to be working.

“I didn’t know you were awake, I swear!” she said quickly.

“Calm down,” he replied, staying still where he was. “I don’t know why you’re so jumpy around me. I’m just an elf, like you.” 

“That’s wrong, isn’t it, I said the wrong thing,” she gushed, wringing her hands.

“Hey, hey,” he said, as soothingly as he knew how. “It’s okay. I’ve seen you before, haven’t I? Weren’t you serving at the Conclave before everything went to shit?”

She blinked at him in surprise. “You remember me?”

“You were the cute little serving girl who brought me some bread,” he said, nodding as he remembered. “But you ran away before I had a chance to thank you.”

“You…want to thank  _me?”_

“You were kind before all these people knew who I was,” said Jethann. “And besides, where am I? What are they saying about me?”

“You are back in Haven, my lord,” she began.

My lord? He wasn’t having that. At the look on his face her voice petered out.

“I’m a prostitute,” he said. “I’m a prostitute who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I’m no lord.”

“I beg your forgiveness and your blessing,” she said, stumbling over her words. “I am but a humble servant.”

“You’ve missed the point, I think,” he sighed.

“They say you saved us,” she said. “The Breach stopped growing, just like the mark on your hand. It’s all anyone has talked about for the past three days.”

“Three days?” he said. “That’s a long time to be asleep. Have you been taking care of me that whole time?”

She looked up nervously. “Adan and I have. He’s the apothecary. He’s not very nice to me, but he isn’t nice to anyone, so it’s fine.”

“Thank you for making sure I didn’t die in my sleep,” he said. “So, everyone thinks I’m their savior?”

“I’m only saying what I heard. I didn’t mean anything by it.” She paused and added. “I’m certain Lady Cassandra will want to know you’ve awakened. She said, at once.”

“Where is she?” he said, looking down at the ridiculous beige pajamas they’d put him in. He didn’t have much else to wear, and they seemed warm. Not very flattering, though.

“With the Chancellor, in the Chantry. At  _once.”_

“Have a good day,” he called after her. She stopped at the door and gave him a shy little smile.

He picked up the box she’d dropped. There were some herbs in there, obviously meant to treat him with. Unsure if they were important, he pocketed them and left the little house he was in.

The sun stung his eyes, and he shielded them with his hand, only to see a line of people making a path for him. What the girl had said- that everyone was talking about what he’d done at the Breach- it hadn’t occurred to him what that meant.

“I’m not important,” he wanted to tell all of them. “I don’t matter. It was them, Cassandra and the others. I hardly did anything.”

When he began to walk down the steps, he heard someone whispers, “That’s him. That’s the Herald of Andraste.”

Those words sent a chill through him unlike any he’d ever felt. This was a joke, right? No one could possibly be looking at him and thinking he was any kind of herald of anything, let alone Andraste! The crowd continued to murmur as he walked through it, and he didn’t look at any of their faces. He didn’t know what to say to these people. A week earlier most of them would have been pretending he didn’t exist.

“Maker be with you,” someone said to him, almost reverently, and he felt his face warm up. He nodded in that general direction and hurried out of the crowd.

He was supposed to go towards the Chantry. He walked quickly, avoiding any people and doing his best not to even hear snippets of conversation, because most of them seemed to be about him. When he finally reached the big wooden doors it was with a sense of relief.

It faded quickly, however, as he heard Cassandra and Roderick arguing from inside the private rooms once he was in the Chantry. Nervously, he knocked on the door. The person who opened it was an armed Templar.

“Ah,” he said. “Hello.”

“Chain him,” said the angry Chancellor at once. “I want him prepared for travel to the capitol for trial.”

“Disregard that. Leave us,” countered Cassandra. Jethann wondered which they would do. Thankfully for him, they left.

“You walk a dangerous line, Seeker,” said the Chancellor.

“The Breach is stable, but it is still a threat. I will not ignore it,” she replied, frowning.

“So I’m still a suspect,” he said. “Haven’t I convinced you that I don’t have the skills to pull something like this off, even if I wanted to?”

“You absolutely are,” said the Chancellor.

“No, he is not,” Cassandra said. “And he wouldn’t be even if he hadn’t convinced us that he is no fighter.”

“That’s right,” said Chancellor Roderick. “He’s a common whore. You could find a knife-ear on the corner of any street in an Alienage and slap a mark on them, and they’d be as good as he is.”

“Show some respect,” said Cassandra, clenching her fists.

“That’s not true at all,” said Jethann, internally pleased with Cassandra’s reaction. “I’m told I have very unusual coloring. Not at all usual to find someone with hair as red as mine.”

“He mocks us even as we talk,” said the Chancellor in irritation. “This is an insult to us all, least of all the Chantry.”

“Someone was behind the explosion at the Conclave,” said Leliana, bringing the conversation back to its roots. “Someone Most Holy did  _not_ expect. Perhaps they died with the others- or have allies that yet live.”

Jethann did not miss the look she cast the Chancellor. Neither did he.

“ _I_ am a suspect?”

“You, and many others,” said Leliana. Jethann knew he would never want to get on her bad side.

“But not the prisoner.”

“I heard the voices in the temple. The Divine called to him for help,” said Cassandra.

“So his survival? That thing on his hand? All a coincidence?”

Jethann had to admit, it seemed pretty nice of Cassandra and Leliana to just trust him like this. He probably wouldn’t if he was in their position. He’d never let them know that, though.

“Providence. The Maker sent to him for help in our darkest hour.”

When Cassandra said that, he turned to her in disbelief. “You think that too? I know people are saying that they- but you’re reasonable, you can’t honestly believe that I’m sent from the Maker.”

“The Maker does as he will,” said Cassandra. “It is not for me to say.”

He shook his head. “That’s just too much. He’s basically telling the world to fuck off if he’s sending me. And as much as I appreciate the idea, no one will want an elven prostitute to be their guide or whatever it is you think I am. It’s…it’s absurd.”

He bit his lip. He was probably not helping his case to say all that, but had been nagging at him ever since that girl had called him ‘my lord.’

“The Breach remains, and your mark is our only hope of closing it,” said Leliana. “Whether you’re chosen or not.”

Jethann wondered where Varric was. He’d have a reasonable opinion on this, surely.

“This is not for you to decide,” said Chancellor Roderick, beginning to turn a bit sweaty and red as he realized this was not going the way he wanted.

“You know what this is, Chancellor?” said Cassandra, motioning to a large book with what Jethann was fairly sure was the Seeker symbol on it. “A writ from the divine, granting us the authority to act. As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn. We will close the breach, we will restore order, and we will do it with or without your approval.”

Chancellor Roderick stormed out, but Leliana paid no heed. “This is the Divine’s directive. Rebuild the Inquisition of old. Find those who will stand against the chaos.”

“We aren’t ready. We have no leader, no numbers, and now, no Chantry support.”

Jethann sighed. That was his fault. Cassandra saw him and sent him a questioning glance, but he looked away.

“But we have no choice: we must act now. With you at our side,” finished Cassandra, looking at Jethann.

“Me?” he said. “What can I do? You saw my fighting skills. I don’t have any.”

“You have potential, even if you don’t see it,” said Cassandra, cracking a smile. “And we do need you.”

“And if I decided to leave?” he said.

“Where would you go?” said Cassandra pointedly.

Jethann opened his mouth in indignation. “Don’t treat me like I have no options. We all make choices whether or not to do something.”

“You’re right,” she said. “That was uncalled for. If you wish, you can go. However, many people believe you are still guilty, and the Inquisition can only protect you if you are with us.”

“We can also help you,” added Leliana.

“It will not be easy if you stay, but you cannot pretend this has not changed you,” said Cassandra.

He almost retorted angrily to that, but she was right. He couldn’t pretend it hadn’t. At the very least, he had this stupid mark on his hand. Had to do something about that.

“When I woke up I certainly didn’t picture this outcome,” he said, more quietly than he meant.

“Neither did we,” said Leliana.

“Help us fix this before it’s too late,” said Cassandra, offering her hand. Jethann took it clumsily. Her hand was warm and calloused, rough around the edges with hard work and years of swordplay. His was soft and pale in hers, fingers still cold from the outdoors.

Just like that, he was in the Inquisition.

 

* * *

 

 

They’d given him food and clothes and told him to come back to the Chantry in a few hours. Jethann couldn’t remember the last time he’d been able to take his time and look around any of the places he’d been to in the past three years. He’d seen some of the worst barns, stables, and inns in the Free Marches and Ferelden and was unsettled by the idea of being able to relax and explore; he’d normally spend the day soliciting and seducing, trying to earn enough to pay for his room and board.

Where to go first? He wanted to go to the fire, as the beige clothes they’d put him in weren’t really very warm, but he saw a couple Chantry sisters who looked like they were discussing something important. He didn’t relish the idea of going near them, so he strolled down the path, shivering slightly.

He approached a man in standing in front of some wares, planning to ask if there was a tavern nearby. He was cute enough, Jethann thought, although his nose was rather large. The blonde hair was nice if you went for the Ferelden aesthetic.

“Ah, you’re awake and out of Lady Cassandra’s clutches,” said the man. “And I slipped that…ah…young elven lass…good coin to tell me when you came back to us.”

Jethann snorted. “That’s most definitely not what you were about to call her. Do you think I’m stupid?”

He coughed awkwardly. “Sorry, I’m not used to-“

“Treating an elf like an equal?” said Jethann, raising an eyebrow. If these people wanted to call him their Herald, they’d better get used to what that meant.

“That’s not what I meant at all, beg your pardon,” said the man, staring somewhere past Jethann with decidedly red cheeks.

“Fine,” said Jethann. “You have my pardon, for now.”

“Seggrit,” introduced the man. “Honored to meet you. Thank you for all you’ve done, and hopefully, will still do.”

Jethann rubbed his left foot against his right ankle anxiously. “Yeah, I’ll do my best and all that. Not really used to this sort of thing.”

“I doubt anyone would be,” said Seggrit.

“So you sell your wares here, is that it?” asked Jethann, leaning over and examining what looked like a warm fur-lined set of gloves. He sighed longingly and searched his pockets, realizing someone must have taken his money and put it away somewhere.

“Oh, shit,” he said. “My coin’s gone. I’ll have to come back later.”

Seggrit leaned forward slightly, lowering his tone. “You know, there’s a rumor going around Haven that you’re, ah, a man of the night.”

Jethann looked up from his search for coin. “So you’re calling me a whore behind my back, is that what you’re telling me?”

Seggrit realized the trap he’d fallen into, but Jethann silenced him before he could half-ass an apology.

“It’s fine,” he said. “I am a prostitute, yes. I don’t lie about who I am. Life’s too short to stress too much about how others view you, that’s what I’ve always said.”

Seggrit gestured to the gloves. “I was thinking, since you don’t have any coin on you, and you look pretty cold, we could make an exchange here. I’ll give you these gloves and a whole matching outfit extra if you let me take you behind that cart over there and show you my manhood.”

Jethann laughed. “You just want to show it to me, huh? You can be clear with me, honey.”

“Fine then,” said Seggrit. “I’ll take you back there and fuck you hard, and in return you can get some warm clothes. How does that sound?”

“Sounds good to me,” he replied, winking. Those clothes were probably worth three rides with him at his old Rose prices, but he wasn’t about to let Seggrit know that.

Seggrit recruited some friend of his to watch his stand and pulled Jethann off with him, a rather harsh grip on his arm pulling him forward to the cart he’d mentioned. He didn’t even hesitate as he pushed Jethann against the stone wall, making him brace his hands against the ice that coated it, back facing Seggrit.

“You certainly don’t waste time, do you?”

He shivered when Seggrit unceremoniously pulled his trousers down to his knees, baring him to the cold air.

“Not trying to interrupt your fast and furious flow you’ve got going here,” he said. “But could you get some sort of lube? Smooth this process?”

“You don’t get to make the demands here,” said Seggrit, smiling at him for the first time since he’d dragged Jethann behind this cart.

Ah. One of  _these_  kinds of men. Jethann spread his legs and braced himself. Seggrit was better than his word and did the bare minimum of preparation. That, and he was quick. He didn’t make Jethann pretend to be aroused as he pounded him into the stone wall, Jethann’s fingers turning red from cold and his cheek getting scraped against the ice.

When he was finished he pulled back, a smug look on his face. “Stay here,” he practically ordered. “I’ll get you those clothes I promised.”

Jethann wiped himself with his sleeve and pulled his trousers back up, standing by himself in this dingy little forgotten place while he waited. It was several long minutes before Seggrit returned, and he seemed to get a perverse kind of joy out of how miserable and freezing Jethann was.

“Thanks, hun,” he said, refusing to be cowed by the obvious superiority kick Seggrit was getting out of this. “I’ll be off then.”

The clothes Seggrit handed him before returning to his stall were warm and thick, perfect for the weather. It was good for moving quickly in, Jethann thought as he changed behind the cart, glad to have something that he could fight in (since it seemed he’d be doing more of that soon, whether willing to not).

Didn’t look bad on him, either, he thought as he twisted his head and checked out his rear. Nice snug fit. He wanted to clean off and ditch the old pajamas they’d put him in, so he headed back towards the little house he’d woken up in.

On the way there he stopped and noticed a small inn that he’d failed to notice earlier. He must have been so dazed with everything that was happening that he’d missed it; very unlike him. He entered it, shoving the beige pajamas into an open barrel on his way in.

He took a deep breath as he was met with the aroma of boiled stew and the stench of unwashed and drunk soldiers. Not entirely pleasant, but familiar. In this new world where people treated him with respect or fear, familiar was good.

He still didn’t have any coin though, so there was no point in staying. He turned to leave when he heard a woman say, “Oh, Maker, you’re him! You’re the Herald of Andraste.”

“That’s what they’ve been saying, yes,” he replied, walking up to the counter she was standing behind. Probably the owner, judging the clothes and the fact that she wasn’t being openly ogled.

“And you were sent to shame us for mistreating the elves,” she said, eyes wide with fear. She was a pretty woman, with nice brown hair. Sensible clothing, too. The kind of woman who’d have served drinks at the Rose, saving herself for the one she’d loved. The servers had lived in a different world than Jethann did.

“I pay my elves good and proper, you should know. Friend of the Alienage and all, and all…” she said, trailing off. “I mean, I’m Flissa. Can I get you a drink?”

“I haven’t lived in an Alienage since I was eleven years old,” he said, leaning on the counter. “And you say you pay your elves good and proper huh?”

“Uh,” she said. “Yes. Not like the others do. Some of the others, I mean. I’m not trying to get anyone into trouble.”

“When you say good and proper, do you mean the same wages as the humans?” he asked, half curious, half annoyed. “Because where I’m from, an elf working hard labor on the docks got a third of the pay a human did for the same work, and the human didn’t have to get called knife-ear and ‘simple’ the entire time.”

She hesitated. It was enough.

“Friend of the Alienage,” he said, rolling his eyes. “ _Obviously.”_

She stared at him, speechless. Her cheeks were reddening. He took pity on her and added, “No drink for me, thanks. I think I need a nap.”

He needed a bath, more like. His cheek was stinging from where it had scraped against the rough wall and his legs and ass ached. He didn’t know if he’d be able to get one, but he could try. As he began to leave, he thought of something.

“Flissa,” he called. “Since I’m the Herald of Andraste or whatever, do you think I’d be able to find someone who could get me some supplies?”

She flinched. “There’s Threnn. She’s the Requisitions Officer. She can find you anything you need.” Flissa described Threnn quickly, and he vaguely remembered walking past her earlier.

“Good,” he said, leaving the inn. He needed makeup. His face hadn’t felt so bare in a long time. Without a little concealer and the like, it would quickly become obvious that he wasn’t a young man anymore. And with the rate things were going around here, he’d probably end up losing a lot of sleep and getting dark bags under his eyes, if he didn’t already have them.

He took a detour from his nap to go find and talk to her. He waited awkwardly in the snow as she finished talking to some man and turned to him with an air of impatience.

“If you’re here to clean, Hess can get you a bucket or a broom,” she began swiftly, obviously having said it before. “Anyone calls you knife ear you come to me.”

“How kind of you,” he said dryly.

“Oh. You’re him. Threnn,” she said, introducing herself. She was a hard woman. Probably an ex-soldier. He’d seen quite a few of these kinds of women at the Rose, but not in the four years since then- women like her didn’t pick up traveling, low-class whores like he’d become. “Inquisition quartermaster. I’m doing what I can to supply this mess.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” he said. “How’s everything going?”

“Good day. Or good as it can be with the sky ripped apart. You’re part of the Inquisition now?”

“Apparently I am,” he replied. “I agreed to it anyway.”

She then explained how to fill requisitions. When she was done, he smiled as charmingly as he could. She glared at him suspiciously.

“So how does one end up as quartermaster for the Inquisition?”

“I served Ferelden under Teryn Loghain Mac Tir,” she said, back straightening with pride and expression hardening. “Best commanding officer this world has ever seen. But when they all turned on him at Denerim, there wasn’t much use for those that held that opinion. Queen Anora sent me here out of kindness.”

“Loghain? I’ve heard of him. Didn’t he-”

“I was at Ostagar,” she snapped. “I know what happened.”

“I was going to say ‘didn’t he get in trouble for selling elves as slaves’?” he replied. “I find that a much bigger deal that the outcome of some battle. He’s not dead though, anyway, right?”

She looked unnerved at the mention of Mac Tir’s slavery connections. “He did…it didn’t seem like him,” she admitted. “But he did it. And no, he’s not dead. Condemned to live out the rest of his life in exile.”

Jethann had heard as much, even in the Free Marches. “That’s not so bad, is it?” he said, remembering that he was supposed to be nice right now. “He was always a soldier, right?”

“And now he’s serving some derelict order in Orlais,” she sighed. “Ferelden needs him.”

Jethann bit his lip. “I’m sorry about what I said before. It must have been hard for you to serve after what happened to him. But you’re still brave, you know? You’re still open about respecting him, even after all these years. And you still serve even when no one agrees with you.”

She almost smiled before the mask slid back into place. “You think so, huh?”

“Yeah, I do,” he replied quietly, hand resting casually on the edge of the requisitions table. He thought about saying something about how beautiful she was, but that would be overdoing it. “Where were you stationed before Haven?”

“Denerim,” she replied. “Why are you so interested?”

“I like knowing people,” he said, flicking his eyes upwards to meet hers, their gaze locked in. “I especially like it when it’s you. It must be rough, coming from Denerim to here, and so quickly. Did you leave something behind? Someone?”

“No,” she said, crossing her arms. “I didn’t. Why, you interested? Or is what they saying about true? You trying to see if I’m lonely enough for a ride.”

“I just wanted to tell you that you’re not the only one who’s been forced to move, and quickly,” he said, smile fading. “I wasn’t talking about- I was only hoping for some sympathy. I hardly have more than the clothes on my back, so I was just thinking you might understand.”

He could see Threnn soften before his eyes, the line her mouth had turned into a more pleasant expression. “What is it you need?” she asked. “You’re obviously missing something.”

He scuffed the ground with one of his shoes. “I used to have this makeup kit- it was stolen in Redcliffe, and I haven’t really felt the same without it.”

“Makeup? You mean the powder Orlesian nobles and prostitutes like to cover their face with?”

“Yeah, exactly like that,” said Jethann.

She raised her eyebrows. “The rumors are true, aren’t they? You are a whore.”

“I am,” he replied honestly. “And what I told you was true. Just because I’m an elf and a prostitute doesn’t mean I can’t miss something…even if it is as silly as makeup.”

“I can understand that. Your accent…you’re a Free Marcher, aren’t you?”

Jethann wrinkled his nose at the term. “From Kirkwall, yes.”

“That’s a long way from here.”

“It is,” he agreed.

She nodded sharply. “I’ll get you that makeup kit. There has to be a noble’s corpse or an empty estate around here somewhere. Just give me time.”

“Thank you,” he said, actually touched. He felt like this woman Threnn had managed to see through his coy game and was still going to help him, and that was a rare thing. That, and he found himself actually caring about her. A little bit. Not a ton or anything.

“I need to get going,” he added, yawning. Now for that nap.

 

* * *

 

 

Sadly, the elven apostate from earlier was standing between him and the bed where he could rest his head. Jethann was sick of the cold and the confusion and just wanted to sleep. He still stopped to talk when Solas waved him down, however, and smiled with an ease and practice few had.

“The Chosen of Andraste. A blessed hero sent to save us all.” Solas sounded a little more than skeptical when he said it, but he was smiling.

“Oh, that sounds fun,” said Jethann. “Do I get some sort of reward at the end if I do my job right?”

“History tells us that those who looks for a reward rarely find one,” said Solas.

“Oooh, thought-provoking,” he replied. “But not entirely true.”

Solas turned away from him, walking several steps away with a thoughtful look in his eyes. Jethann wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing, exactly.

“I’ve journeyed deep into the Fade in ancient ruins and battlefields to see the dreams of lost civilizations. I’ve watched as hosts of spirits clash to reenact the bloody past in ancient wars both famous and forgotten. Every great war has its heroes. I’m just curious what kind you’ll be.”

“Hopefully a living one,” he said, laughing slightly even though as insides churned at the whole business.

“That would be preferable, I imagine,” said Solas. He paused and added, “I will stay then. At least until the Breach has been closed.”

Jethann couldn’t imagine how anything he’d said had led to that conclusion, but fine. “Were you planning to leave?”

“I am an apostate surrounded by Chantry forces in the middle of a mage rebellion,” he replied sharply. “Cassandra has been accommodating, but you understand my caution.”

“Cassandra doesn’t seem like a woman who’d go back on her word,” Jethann said truthfully.

“Thank you. I appreciate the thought. For now let us hope either the mages or the Templars have the power to close the Breach.”

Solas closed his mouth and nodded to Jethann, obviously done talking, but Jethann had more questions. He’d known a few apostate mages; not many, but a couple. Solas was also an elf who‘d lived his life outside a city- he wanted to know about that as well.

“I have more to say,” he said, loudly enough to pull Solas out of whatever train of thought he’d entered into.

“Closing the Breach is our primary goal,” he said, blinking a few times as he refocused on Jethann. “But I hope we might also discover what was used to create it. Any artifact of such power is dangerous. The destruction of the Conclave proves that much.”

“I don’t know anything about that,” admitted Jethann. “I can’t personally see what use it would have, except maybe destroying it.”

He rubbed the mark on his hand against his pants leg, as though he could scrape it off and get rid of this responsibility.

Solas frowned, obviously annoyed. “It is important, but I would not advise destroying it until we know more about it.”

“Okay,” said Jethann, who honestly didn’t care. “Fine. You take care of that then. I was actually thinking of asking you what you know about elves.”

“Oh?” said Solas. “Are you not an elf as well? Don’t you have opinions to share?”

“I don’t know much about elves,” he said. “I’ve lived among humans most of my life.”

“That much is obvious,” said Solas disdainfully.

Jethann gritted his teeth in annoyance. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“That you know nothing of the customs of your people,” said Solas. “Even the mangled versions the Dalish elves claim are true.”

“What’s your problem with Dalish elves?” he asked, stung. He’d always admired them, from what little he knew of them. Many city elves did.

“They are children, acting out stories misheard and repeated wrongly a thousand times.”

“And you know so much better? That’s what happens when you lose your entire country and are forced to hide in forests to keep your culture,” said Jethann defensively.

“I have walked the Fade,” said Solas. “I have seen how incorrect their interpretations are.”

“They’re trying,” said Jethann.

Solas sighed. “I expect too much of them, of course.”

Jethann failed to see why the Dalish needed to live up to this one mage’s opinion of them, but he wasn’t going to say anything. He’d learned long ago that sometimes you just let things go.

“What do you know about us, then?” he asked. “Elves who live in cities.”

“The culture in alienages or among the slaves of Tevinter is like any of the impoverished and powerless. They cling to memories of a better past and practice a few rituals to distinguish themselves from humans.”

“Can’t argue with you there,” said Jethann, because agreeing was easier than defending the pride of a people he’d been long distanced from.

“And you?” said Solas. “You said you’ve been living among humans for a long time. I assume you don’t even do that much?”

Here was that attitude again, the same one Solas had given him when they’d been on their way to the Breach before. Jethann rolled his eyes. “Oh, excuse me if I’m not as much as an elf as you think I should be. If I suffer the same slurs and bullshit as other elves, then I am one. The pointed ears agree with me.”

He waved his fingers in goodbye and walked to the door of the house in front of it, fairly sure it was the house where he’d woken up. He opened the door and discovered it wasn’t.

“Oops, sorry,” he said after he’d poked his head in.

“Look who’s back from the dead. Again,” said a man with robes and a beard.

“Do we know each other?” said Jethann. It was entirely possible. He’d known a lot of people.

“You were passed out last time we talked. Not particularly coherent. I patched you up after you stumbled out of Maker-knows-where, though, so you’re welcome.”

“Ah,” said Jethann. “Thank you, then. I’m off for a nap.”

He shut the door and headed to the house next to that one, glad to see the bed he’d woken up in. He searched the table next to it and found his coin, which he tucked under his pillow before taking a needed rest.

 

* * *

 

 

He had less than an hour of sleep before he was shaken awake by an irate Cassandra.

“You’re stunning when you’re angry,” he said dryly, trying to pry her fist off his new shirt.

“What were you thinking?” she snarled.

“About what? You’re going to have to be more specific.”

She made an annoyed grunt and let go of his shirt, shoving him back against the wall as she did so. “Come with me,” she practically barked. “I’m taking you to Josephine.”

“Who’s Josephine?” he said. “A temptress you mean to seduce me with?”

She snorted. “Isn’t that your job?”

“No man is perfect,” he said, winking.

She didn’t even give him time to pull his coat on as she dragged him out the door and into the cold air, pushing him forward until they reached the Haven Chantry. Instead of the big room at the back she guided him ever-so-gently into a room on the side, where a woman sat at a desk, running a dark-skinned hand through black hair.

“You’re sure she’s not a temptress?” said Jethann. “She’s quite beautiful.”

She was, with impeccably curled hair and thick eyelashes framing dark brown eyes. She was also sighing and rifling through papers with annoyance. When she saw Jethann, she gave him a pained smile.

“This is Josephine Montilyet,” said Cassandra. “She’s our ambassador, and the one who’s going to have to deal with the mess you’ve started.”

“I still don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, rubbing his arm where she’d grabbed him. “Can you explain what’s going on?”

“You’ve been here three days and you’ve already slept with someone?” she said, crossing her arms and glaring at him.

“Give me some credit,” he said. “I was asleep for those three days. It was more like two hours.”

Josephine looked like she was going to laugh or cry, Jethann couldn’t tell which. He looked from one stressed face to the other.

“Why is that such a big deal?” he asked nervously, eyes suddenly finding Josephine’s wooden desk very interesting. That, or the stone walls. There was another woman in the room, an elf in robes. She seemed almost as uncomfortable as Jethann was.

“He really doesn’t get it,” said Cassandra angrily.

“The man you…had relations with,” said the ambassador, her lovely voice accentuated with a rich Antivan accent. “Seggrit, I believe? He is going around telling everyone he can find that he has been with the Herald of Andraste. We were already having difficult quelling the rumors of your past and this only makes it…much worse.”

“So you’re upset that the people are going around calling me a common whore?” he asked.

Cassandra and Josephine exchanged a look. “Well, yes,” said Josephine.

“I am,” he said. “Sorry that it doesn’t look good for you, but I don’t hide it. And I didn’t see you offering me new clothes.”

“You didn’t ask,” said Cassandra icily.

He rubbed his arm uncomfortably. “What do you want me to say? I’m not used to people doing anything for me, especially for free.”

There was silence in the room. Jethann felt very small.

“Did I mess things up that badly?” he asked. “I had no idea he was going to do this. I don’t know how to be part of something like this.”

“Stay out of the way,” said Cassandra. “We’ll tell you when we need you to do something. Until then, just stay out of the damn way.”

She strode out, armored shoulder brushing him aside with disdain. He stood there uncomfortably, embarrassed and angry.

Josephine coughed slightly, looking up from her paperwork. “Would you like me to make you some tea?” she said delicately. The woman wearing robes relaxed, returning to her own work.

“No thanks,” said Jethann.

She tapped a perfect nail on the desk. “Can I ask you a couple questions, Jethann? Those rumors abound, and while I by no means wish to force you to feel badly, I do want to stop them best I can. Learning a little more about you might help.”

“Sure,” he said, approaching her desk slightly. “What do you want to know? My past isn’t very interesting.”

She smiled, showing dimpled cheeks. “Everyone’s past is interesting if told in the right way,” she replied. “Your indiscretion with your sleeping partners, that’s a recent thing, yes? You’ve only now fallen on hard times?”

“I’ve been a prostitute since I was fourteen,” he said. “But yeah, I guess you could say I’ve been on harder times recently.”

Her mouth opened in shock. “Since you were fourteen? You must be joking!”

He laughed at her incredulity. “No, sorry, I wish I were. I didn’t have a lot of options as a kid on the streets.”

“You were an orphan? How sad!” She somehow managed to look even more stricken.

“If that’s what you want to tell people, go ahead,” he said.

She nodded slowly. “I think I can make that work. A tragic orphan, earning his living from such a young age, seven or eight years passing before divine intervention rose him to a high power.”

“You think I’m twenty-one? That’s quite a compliment,” he said, more pleased than he wanted to let on.

She raised her eyebrows. “Are you much older than that?”

“Oh, definitely not,” he replied. “Maybe twenty-two.”

She smiled. “I’ve heard that kind of answer before, usually from the mouth of widows at Orlesian balls.”

“I can’t tell whether that’s a good thing or not,” he said.

She shrugged. “I think you know.”

He sighed, smile fading. “As much as I love the friendly banter, I’m dying for a bath. Any idea where I can get one around here?”

“I can have one drawn up for you, if you like,” she said. “Do you use normal soap?”

What kind of question was that? “What kind of soap do you think I use?” he asked, voice edged with annoyance. “Whore soap?”

She colored red. “No, of course not. I’d heard elves sometimes have their own-“

“If we have our own soap,” he said, “It’s made of the dregs of yours. So I’ll have normal soap, thank you.”

“I’ll draw you up a bath in your room as soon as possible,” she said, cheeks flushed.

He left then, turning his heel with more dignity than he felt like he had in that moment. He’d messed things up for the Inquisition, to no one’s surprise. Cassandra hated him and he had no idea how to do anything anyone wanted him to do. He felt bad for being rude to Josephine, who’d only been trying to help.

He was in this kind of mood the entire way out of the Chantry and back into the cold, finding a place to sit on a ledge, where he swung his legs and tried not to think about anything at all.

“How’re you doing? I can ask now that you’re out of Cassandra’s clutches.”

It was Varric. Jethann unconsciously slid his mask back into place, looking up at him and smiling.

“I’m fine,” he said. “A little overwhelmed. Didn’t expect to see you here, of all places. Small world, huh?”

Varric clambered down to join him, grunting slightly. “Must be getting old. How do you young things do it?”

“You know I was at the Rose longer than you had a room at The Hanged Man, right?” he said. “Maker. People seem determined to make me feel good about my age and like shit about everything else.”

Varric’s smirk didn’t budge, but his eyes softened slightly. “I saw Cassandra storming out of the Chantry.”

“And I bet you heard all about Seggrit, too,” he said, looking down. “I miss Kirkwall.”

“I do too,” Varric said, reaching a hand out to clap Jethann on the knee. “I only left because I was dragged out. What made you leave?”

“I lost my job,” he said. “Lusine let all the elves go to cut costs after the explosion.”

“Sorry to hear that. I bet Lusine’s sorry too. You and Serendipity were two of her best earners.”

“What am I doing here, Varric?” he asked. “Stuck a thousand miles from home, getting told I’m a savior and a murderer in the same day. That’s some bullshit.”

“A lot of good people died at that Conclave,” said Varric. “But you lived.”

“I don’t remember,” he said. “I know I went in there to service someone…but I don’t remember the rest. Cassandra should just cut my hand off and throw me to the wolves. She probably wants to.”

“Ouch,” said Varric. His hand was still on Jethann’s knee, strong and calloused, so different from Jethann’s. It was comforting. “I would think you’d be opposed to that.”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I don’t know what I want. Part of me wonders if I shouldn’t just…give in, and do what they say. What if, against all odds, I am what they’re looking for?”

“It’ll be quite a story,” said Varric.

“I hope it has a happy ending,” he said.

“I’ll do everything I can to make sure it does,” Varric said, standing. “You’re a good guy, Jethann.”

“Yeah,” said Jethann, eyes unfocused, staring at the snow as Varric walked away. “We’ll see.”


	4. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! I should be getting better about posting these soon, as soon as I get the energy back to actually write them (don't worry, I have the next few chapters finished). Hope you like it!

They’d told him so many things before he’d left that it was hard to get it all straight. He hadn’t asked them to clarify any of it, not after what Cassandra had said. He’d just nodded and smiled and come away from the meeting with more questions than answers.

The only thing he had clear was that they were going to the Ferelden Hinterlands to talk to some Chantry woman by the name of Giselle. It seemed like a long way to travel just to talk to someone, but he went with Cassandra, Varric, and Solas. Cassandra had insisted, and he didn’t dare argue.

The Hinterlands.

After they’d spent several weeks traveling just to get there, they ended up at a camp in a picturesque little nook in the middle of the Ferelden wilderness. If you’d asked him a few months ago where he thought he’d be at this time, he would not have said here.

“We need to get to the Crossroads,” said Cassandra. She’d been cold to him the entire trip, only speaking to him when necessary. He wasn’t the Herald she had wanted, that much was obvious.

“You’ll have to point me in the right direction,” he said, pulling his boots on. He’d been massaging his feet in hopes of making the ache go away, but that seemed futile enough anyway.

“I’ll do more than that,” said Cassandra, pushing her way past a huge bush and onto the path ahead. Jethann finished lacing his boots and stood, grabbing his knives and filing in next to Varric, Solas leading the back.

“She really hates me, doesn’t she?” said Jethann, amusement leaking into his tone.

“Seems that way,” replied Varric, reaching back to pat the crossbow he so loved. “You’re not alone, though. She’s not real fond of me either.”

“What did you do to make her mad?” said Jethann.

“I think it’s just my personality,” he said, chuckling as he ducked under a large tree branch. “It grates on her.”

Cassandra didn’t appear to be hearing any of this. She plowed on, hand on the hilt of her weapon the entire time.

“I’m a prostitute, I think that’s enough for her,” he said. “Although I’m sure my own personality hasn’t helped.”

“What’re you talking about? You’re quite the charmer.”

He laughed. “Of course I am. It’s my job.”

“We’re almost there,” said Cassandra, interrupting them. “I suggest you two stop chatting like old wives.”

Jethann fell silent, running a hand through his hair. It was a bit more tangled than he’d like, but he’d managed to keep it fairly nice despite all the travel they’d been doing. They descended down a steep slope, Jethann stumbling a bit on the way down, before arriving on a little path that led to a bustling refugee camp.

Maybe ‘bustling’ wasn’t the word, he realized as they approached. There was fighting going on there, lots of it. He stopped in his tracks, feeling his heart begin to beat faster.

“The templars and the mages,” said Cassandra.

“What do we do?” said Jethann, who was desperately hoping the answer was something along the lines of ‘stay out of it.’

“We fight,” said Cassandra. “There are innocents down there.”

Jethann wanted to argue that he too was an innocent, but wondered if they’d even consider him one. When a whore died in Kirkwall the body was dumped into the water, mourned by few, if any. He followed them down the steep little slope into the fray.

It was nothing like fighting those demons had been. There was so much shouting, and people running. Cassandra kept yelling “we’re not mages!” to the Templars they were fighting, but it didn’t make any difference. Jethann unsheathed his daggers but didn’t move as the battle rushed around him. He wanted to shut his eyes and not open them until there was no blood, no battle, nothing but peace and quiet.

Pain lanced through his arm, and he looked down to see the mark on his hand glowing. He looked up and saw that an archer was aiming for Solas, who had no idea. The archer hadn’t noticed him. He was only a few steps away. Gritting his teeth, he surged towards the archer, sinking his blades through their armor and feeling the woman beneath him gasp in pain. She drew a blade and tried to attack, but by the he’d already stabbed again. She toppled to the ground, leaving Jethann’s hands covered in her blood. He reached down and turned her still-warm face upward, catching sight of her blank stare and thick curly hair. She had been strong in life. She was dead because of him.

He fell to his knees, retching into a bush. When he’d wiped his mouth and looked up, the fighting had ended. Cassandra was just finishing off a mage, pulling her sword out of his stomach. Fighting off the urge to return to the bush, he stood. Solas spotted him first and beckoned for him to rejoin the others.

“Where did you manage to hide the whole time?” asked Cassandra, raising an eyebrow as he approached.

Jethann ignored that, rolling his eyes as he wiped his blades on the grass.

“I guess you missed when he saved Solas’s skin back there,” said Varric. “I get it, you were busy. Still, it happened.”

Jethann smiled a little, sheathing his weapons. He’d ask Varric later if he was cleaning them right. His hands shook, but no one noticed. These people were so used to killing. He wanted to ask, please, could they take a break- he’d never done that before… but he would only be met with derision, so he kept his mouth shut despite the feeling that bile might rise at any moment.

“Ah,” said Cassandra, sighing. “Solas, are you coming?”

“Thank you for that unexpected help back there,” said the mage as he joined them. “I certainly didn’t expect it to come from you.”

“I see that you’re the master of the backhanded compliment,” said Jethann. “Aren’t we supposed to be looking for someone?”

“Yes,” ground out Cassandra. “Now that we’re done wasting time here, we should find Mother Giselle.”

Cassandra continued to lead the way until they found a Chantry mother tending to the wounded. As they approached she soothed an injured soldier, asking him to allow a mage to tend to him. She then turned to the group. She was beautiful, he thought absently, in a regal sort of way, her sharp eyes taking him in. The kind of woman who, if she visited the Rose at all, would hold herself high as she did so. But he did not think she was the kind to visit a brothel.

“Mother Giselle?” he said, crossing his arms and trying to pretend that his heart wasn’t still racing from the fight.

“I am,” she replied. “And you must be the one they’re calling the Herald of Andraste.”

“Yeah, some people are calling me that,” he said. “I sure didn’t tell them to.”

“We seldom have much choice in our fate, I am sad to say.”

Her expression was calm as she looked at him, a small comforting smile plastered on her face. Jethann didn’t like it. Chantry sisters had always looked at him like that, like he was a soul to pity, just someone they could save. And what did that even mean for him, he wondered, as an elf? A Chantry sister had once come to the Alienage and talked slowly to the elves, asking them with handfuls of bread to please reconsider their dock strike. Wasn’t it better if they had their own, separate community? The Maker had placed them lower for a reason, after all.

She had called him cute before she left. He’d been only six or seven and he had hated her because all the people he cared about did. He still hated her.

“You chose to be in the Chantry, didn’t you?” he said, snorting. “You didn’t wake up one morning with one of those stupid hats on.”

He could feel Cassandra’s anger radiating beside him. Varric snorted, obviously amused but not willing to get involved.

“Forgive him, Mother Giselle,” said Cassandra, head up high and back straight, mouth pulled down in a grimace. “He’s- he hasn’t completely taken to his new responsibilities.”

“I’ve heard many things about you,” Mother Giselle said, not responding to Cassandra with more than a polite nod. She folded her arms behind her back and gazed at Jethann. The statement hung in the air as much went unsaid with her words.

“It’s probably all true,” he said. “Especially if you believe that the Maker sent me. Do you believe that? That the Maker thinks I’m the one sent to save Thedas?”

“Why is that so hard to believe? Because you’re an elf?”

“That, and because I’m a whore,” he replied. “Not the glowing image you want for your Herald, is it? I wish everyone would stop pretending they’re not going to give up on all this savior nonsense in a week or two’s time.”

“That’s because they’re not,” said Mother Giselle. “They truly see you as their one hope, the person who can save them from the Breach. The Chantry is about forgiveness, absolving people from their sins. If someone as…” The woman was obviously picking her words carefully. “…deeply set against the Maker’s will can be saved, imagine the hope that will give to others like you.”

Jethann felt heat rise to his face. “I don’t want to talk about how sinful you think I am,” he said. “Unless, of course, it’s to talk about whether or not you can afford my prices.”

“Show some respect!” said Cassandra loudly, voice colored with shock.

The smile on Mother Giselle’s face was thin now. “Many people believe you are the Herald. You must go to them. You must go to the Chantry and convince them, appeal to them.”

“The Chantry has already announced that I’m a rebel, a heretic, or whatever it is they said. I don’t think walking up to them and going, ‘oh honey, by the way, I really am your savior’ will help,” he replied. “I’m the embodiment of what the Chantry hates. The only way I could be any worse is if I knew how to shoot fireballs from my hands.”

He reached a hand up to delicately smooth a few strands of sweaty hair back from his forehead, wrinkling his nose in distaste at the feel of sticky skin. She frowned at the motion.

Mother Giselle huffed slightly, so quietly Jethann doubted the others had heard. “Go to Val Royeaux. Convince the remaining Clerics you are no demon to be feared. They have heard frightful tales of you. Give them something else to believe.”

“Frightful tales, huh?” he repeated. Hard to believe that Chantry mothers in Orlais were cowering at some demonized version of him, maybe with red eyes and sharp teeth. “Wouldn’t me showing up in Val Royeaux make it worse?”

“Can it be worse than it is?”

“Probably,” said Jethann. “That’s a question that can usually be answered with a yes.”

“Let me put it this way- you needn’t convince them all. You just need some of them to doubt. Their power is their unified voice. Take that from them and you receive the time you need.”

He sighed, rolling his eyes. “If you’re certain good old Jethann’s presence will make a difference, I’ll go.”

“I honestly don’t know if you’ve been touched by fate or sent to help us…but I hope. Hope is what we need now. The people will listen to your rallying call, as they will listen to no other. You could build the Inquisition into a force that could deliver us… or destroy us.”

The woman was almost inspiring with all her bullshit, he thought. Perhaps there were a few people out there thinking of him as some sort of inspiration, a reason to fight the demons pouring out of the Breach. A few. But he knew most people thought he was far more likely to destroy than deliver.

“I will go to Haven and provide Sister Leliana the names those in the Chantry who would be amenable to a gathering,” Mother Giselle continued. “It is not much, but I will do whatever I can.”

She turned and walked away with a tilt of her head that told Jethann exactly how little she cared for him- she was doing this for the Inquisition, not for him. He didn’t care. A lot of people hadn’t liked him during his life; he was old enough to brush that kind of thing off.

He was still watching her go when he felt a rough hand on his shoulder spin him around. Not even surprised, his eyebrow was cocked by the time he was face to face with Cassandra.

“Why are you so incapable of showing anyone respect?” she barked.

He pulled his shoulder out of her grip. “When you can look at me and see something other than my past,” he snapped. “Or, better yet, when who I’ve been all my life doesn’t bother you. Sound fair?”

She gritted her teeth, lips pursed. He waited. When she didn’t answer he began walking, determined to find out a little more about this Crossroads they were stationed in and maybe, just maybe, put the lifeless dead eyes of the woman he’d killed out of his mind.

* * *

 

“We’re going for a walk, you say?”

“Yes,” replied Jethann, a little more testily than he wanted to. His legs were beginning to tire and he’d gotten far too much mud on his new boots.

Cassandra sighed so loudly Jethann could hear her from a distance.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Why must we accompany you on this walk, might I ask?”

“Because there are bandits out here,” said Jethann. “And mages and Templars. Last time I checked the mark on my hand was pretty important to you.”

“But why a walk?”

Jethann had, back at the Crossroads, talks to Corporal Vale and a whole lot of other people desperate for aid. Blankets, food, medicine…the whole area seemed to be on the brink of collapse in Jethann’s humble opinion.

“I’ve never been to the quaint backwaters of Ferelden,” said Jethann. “Well, not in a position that I could enjoy them. I thought a nice long walk might clear my mind, and I hear there’s some lovely wildlife out there.”

To prove his point he got down on his haunches and plucked a stem of elfroot out of the ground, appearing to admire it. He tucked it behind his ear. “How do I look?”

Varric laughed, and Cassandra even smiled.

“What are we really here for?” asked Cassandra, tone softening.

“Oh,” said Solas, pointing to a stash of goods and blankets several feet away. “It appears there are supplies for Recruit Whittle.”

The surprise on Cassandra’s face was almost worth having his charity found out, he thought.

“Your task is to kill any rams you see on our way,” he said. “Solas, you too. There are some hungry refugees relying on us.”

“What about me?” said Varric. “Don’t I get to shoot at the defenseless rams?”

“I wouldn’t call them defenseless,” said Solas, a look of bitterness crossing his face. “Those horns are there for a reason.”

“Did you have a bad experience with a ram?” said Jethann teasingly, a smile spreading from him to Solas as if by magic. “Don’t worry, Jethann can make it better.”

“I’m fine, thank you.”

They trekked and trekked through the brush and badly worn paths of the Hinterlands. Jethann was determined to find enough supplies for the refugees to get by on. He could have been one of them if he’d decided to go to Redcliffe instead of Haven only a few months earlier.

He found most of the supplies with little difficulty, although the sun was low in the sky by the time Cassandra had enough ram meat slung over her shoulder. They only needed a few more blankets and supplies- and Jethann was curious about what was in a small cave blocked by a magic barrier.

“I can take care of this, if you wish,” said Solas, bowing his head in that way he had.

“The barrier?” said Jethann. “With your magic and everything?”

Solas’s smile thinned. “Yes, with my magic.”

“Go for it,” he said, crossing his arms and standing back on his heels. He chewed on his lip as Solas cast his spell.

“Wow,” he said, watching the ice barrier break into tiny pieces and shatter, failing to the ground in a deadly rain. “How do you know how to do that?”

“Training,” said Solas. “Talent. Anyone can be born a mage. It takes skill to be a good one.”

“Where did you learn?” said Jethann, poking his head inside the cave entrance. “You’ve never lived in a Circle, right?”

“No, I haven’t,” said Solas, disdain coloring every syllable. “I would rather die. The Chantry and the Qun are not so different, only in the ways they chain their mages.”

Jethann shuddered. “I heard about that, what they do, it’s barbaric. The Qun, I mean. So you think Circles are no good at all?”

“No,” said Solas, while Cassandra scoffed. “They are not. How would you feel if you were rounded up for your profession and forced away into isolation?”

“He was not born a prostitute,” said Cassandra.

“Don’t talk about things you don’t know,” said Varric, but Jethann wasn’t sure who he was referring to.

He didn’t respond to any of the words. The cave had lit torches, but they only illuminated part of the damp interior. He didn’t like the look of this place, the feel of the stale air around him. It felt wrong. He didn’t want to walk any further.

“I don’t see any supplies,” said Jethann, adam’s apple bobbing as he tried to conceal his fear. Whether he was an Agent of the Inquisition or a prostitute, he shouldn’t show fear.

“They could be further in,” said Cassandra, doubt in her tone.

Jethann took a step, and it echoed deep into the cave. He didn’t like that at all.

Two more steps, and the shades appeared. He thought, I can handle these- they’re not so different from the Breach demons. But that was before he saw the spellbinder controlling them.

When he tried to sink his daggers into the shades they bounced off, making him clench his teeth from the pain. The spellbinder’s face was illuminated in dark shadows, a smile on their face as one of their shades tore through Jethann’s clothes (they were so nice, he thought in a daze, and he just bought them) and into his flesh, stopping him in his tracks. Cassandra was battling another shade. The spellbinder’s attentions were thrown off Jethann as Solas and Varric began deadly battle with him, shot after shot being exchanged. Jethann let go of one of his daggers to clutch his injured side, feeling blood seep through the tear in his clothes. He didn’t like this whole fighting business at all, he decided.

He shoved the other dagger into what should have been the shade’s face, not letting it bounce off like the last time, holding it more firmly until the point sunk deep into the shade’s incorporeal body. Jethann could see his dagger inside the spirit- the demon. He screamed with the effort of shoving the dagger in, the shade’s heart burning his skin, his hand- the hand with the mark- feeling like it was on fire.

Finally, blessedly, the shade disappeared, going into the ground with a few sparks like it had begun. Jethann smiled, relieved, looking over to his side to examine his bloody side. He wasn’t paying the slightest attention to his surroundings when the second shade, in the spellbinder’s last throes, came up behind him. Before he knew it he had hit the ground.

* * *

 

When Jethann opened his eyes his head was throbbing and he felt like he had the world’s worst sunburn. When he tried to move he found that someone was insistently keeping him still.

“He’s awake.”

That was Cassandra’s voice.

“Maker,” he mumbled. “I’m waking up in unfamiliar beds far too often lately.”

“Aren’t you used to that?” said a friendly voice. Varric.

“Yes, but this isn’t in the good way,” said Jethann, trying to smirk with his eyes closed.

When he opened his eyes, everything was pitch black. So he was blind then. That whole Inquisition business certainly hadn’t lasted long. Well, now he wouldn’t have to look at the ugly clients, although he’d certainly miss looking at a certain few of his customers.

Or it was the cave ceiling, he realized. Far preferable. He tried to sit up again, but a hand kept him firmly down.

“The shades burned you,” said Cassandra. “How do you feel?”

“Your bedside manner leaves something to be desire,” said Jethann, fingering the blankets he was lying on. “Am I on Recruit Whittle’s supplies?”

“I don’t think he’ll mind if one or two of his blankets come to him bloodstained,” said Varric. “Since you shed that blood for him and all.”

Solas was pacing the room, and Jethann looked at him, wondering what that enigmatic elf was thinking about exactly.

“This used to be a refuge of the Ash Warriors,” said Solas solemnly. That, apparently. He paced the cave ground, footsteps so soft Jethann could scarcely hear them.

“How do you know?” said Varric. “Looks like any old cave to me. Well, except for that red lyrium vein I took the liberty to destroy. I’ll have to thank you later for that, Jet.”

“The Ash Warriors?” asked Cassandra.

Solas began a long-winded explanation of the ancient race of warriors as Jethann pulled his shirt up to see how badly he was burned. He didn’t like what he saw. Did mages have a magic scar removal spell? He would have to ask when Solas wasn’t busy talking or feeling superior about himself. Which seemed to be never, now that he thought about it.

“The Ash Warriors have such a long history,” said Jethann once he’d finished, batting his eyelashes expertly. He hadn’t listened to a word Solas said. “How do you know all that?”

“There are signs,” said Solas, oblivious. “Signs of who the Ash Warriors were, of how they came to be. They’re all over Ferelden, and their tales are still passed down despite the Chantry’s lack of respect for them.”

Jethann nodded, hand still on his injury. He looked down at his other hand. It was wrapped in a bandage, the mark faintly shining through. He wouldn’t be able to hold anything for a few days.

“The Chantry isn’t known for respecting anything it doesn’t like,” said Varric, who noticed Jethann’s discomfort and shot him a smile. “Speaking of the Ash Warriors, how about we get back to that camp we found at Dwarfson’s Pass so the kid here can rest?”

Cassandra helped Jethann up when she felt he was ready to move, and they helped him stagger back to the camp. It wasn’t his best fight, that was for sure, he thought as his eyelids fought to close, exhaustion kicking in as his over-warm body yearned to rest.

Before he retired to his tent, which was full of blankets and trinkets he’d found on the journey to the Hinterlands, he turned to Cassandra, using a hand to support himself on his tent. “We might be stuck here for a while,” he said. “Can you take the supplies we found and the ram meat back to the Crossroads for me? I don’t want to keep him waiting.”

There was no sharp retort, no anger, just a nod.

“Thank you,” said Jethann. “I’ll call if I need a healer.”

He slid into his tent, where he pulled his blankets over him and pretended the hard ground wasn’t an inch or two underneath him. He’d killed a person only earlier that day. He’d nearly died. Even Varric didn’t seem to understand what big deals these were for him. He was too old to start living a life like this. He didn’t cry, but with the thoughts, the guilt, and the lingering pain, sleep didn’t come easy.

* * *

 

Jethann looked at the Breach in the sky and wondered how he was expected to close it. He shut his eyes. It was too much.

“You doing okay, kid? How’s that injury holding up?”

They’d been stuck at the Dwarfson’s Pass camp for two days now, waiting for Jethann’s back and side to heal. He’d bugged Solas into telling him how to minimize scarring, and had a solemn promise from him that when they returned to Haven he’d find a mage who knew healing. Jethann wasn’t fond of having spells cast on him, but he’d never hesitated to visit the Grey Warden, Anders, in the Darktown clinic, and he didn’t like scars.

“I’m good,” said Jethann, eyes still shut. The wind was harsh on his face. He wondered if it was because of the burn or if the sky was angry.

“Cassandra’s itching to get going, you know.”

“I can imagine,” he said, lips twisting in a smile.

“I’ve always wanted to ask,” said Varric. Jethann could hear him shifting, bending down to sit in the grass. “Is that hair of yours natural?”

“Of course it is,” he replied. “Do you see any roots? We’ve been traveling for days.”

“True,” said Varric. “Thought it might be some elven magic.”

“Nope. Let me know if my people get a skill that’s actually useful,” said Jethann, who was beginning to think keeping his eyes closed was the way to go.

“Like?” said an accented voice tinged with skepticism. It seemed Solas had joined the party.

“Like being able to tell the humans where to shove it,” he said.

“You already have that skill,” said Solas. “The elves have lost more than they have gained...obviously.”

“Oh, I see, we’re at the part of the day where you mock me,” said Jethann, opening his eyes and quickly getting blinded by the sunlight. He blinked several times. “Have I ever told you that looking at the reflection on your head too long gives me a headache? Sometimes I wonder if you could fry an egg on it.”

Varric chuckled while Solas scowled. Cassandra made her way over to him, back straight and head held high. Jethann pulled himself off the grass and into a sitting position.

“While you were recovering Solas and I found another group of supplies for the refugees,” she said. “I delivered it to Corporal Vale this morning. Is that okay?”

He stared at her for a moment. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

She fidgeted, gauntleted hands scraping each other audibly. Jethann could hear her leathers creasing. “I thought you might want to be there when we finished giving Recruit Whittle his supplies.”

He shrugged. “As long as they get delivered, right? Thanks for that, saves me the trip.”

“I thought you might want credit,” she admitted.

He stood, stretching his hands behind his back. “Are we going to get going or what? We have things to do, places to go.”

Getting back on the trail took a little while, between Cassandra and Varric arguing about where they should go and Solas wandering off to look at a particularly nice cloud formation. When they finally got on the road, they had to walk a bit slower than expected because of Jethann’s still healing injuries.

“You know, kid, we don’t have to do this,” said Varric. “We can always go back to camp and you can lay out and get a nice tan.”

“My complexion looks terrible when tanned,” he replied, pushing a large branch up and out of his way as they walked. They were planning to find Horsemaster Dennet and ask him what they needed to do to get the Inquisition some horses.

“You’re going to get one regardless if we spend long enough out here,” said Cassandra.

He sighed. “The sacrifices I make for this Inquisition.” He looks down at his injured left hand, glowing through the bandages.

The sun was hot on his neck as they walked. They ran into several groups of Templars as the day wore on, and end managed to successfully take down a smaller encampment nearby. Cassandra found a letter telling them the location of the main camp- they’d check it out later, when Jethann was fully healed.

By high noon they had found a letter on a dead body telling them to find treasure in a place called the Western Fortress, had discovered something called an Astrarium that Jethann found that he was rather good at, something much creepier called an Ocularum and an accompanied shard of something that he felt uncomfortable putting in his pack- Varric took care of it for him, whistling and saying, “That’s what the skull helped you find? Right. Not ominous at all.”

Jethann used a map he found to lead them to a place marked on it, finding an old sheet of paper inside an old tower. When he pulled himself out of the tower, his hair was covered in dust, the heat having smeared his makeup.

Varric took one look at him and at the sweat coating his own bared chest and said, “I think we should rest here.”

Jethann look around at the crumbling walls and overgrown plants. With the walls around them it felt enclosed, safe, with trailing ivy poking from the cracks in the stone and plenty of overhangs to provide shade. He sat under a huge tree, moving several old cracked stones to make his seat a bit more comfortable.

Cassandra walked over. Jethann could see Solas in the background, hands moving along the walls of the ancient ruins. Varric was sitting nearby, unpacking the lunch he’d brought. Jethann began to do the same, as well as pulling out his makeup kit- Threnn had pulled through before they’d left Haven and handed him the small kit with a smile.

“Why do you do that?”

Jethann looked up from his rouge, setting down the small mirror. “Do what?”

Cassandra shifted awkwardly, rubbing the back of her neck. “Wear so much makeup, even when we are out here.”

Her voice was harsh, but he knew how to read people- her cheeks were tinted red, and he would guess the roughness of her tone came from uncertainty.

“Because I like it,” he said, going back to applying the rouge with the ability of someone with years of experience.

“That’s all?”

He opened his eyeliner, not needing a mirror as he expertly marked underneath his eye in one swift motion. “There’s another reason,” he said, smiling slightly.

“There is?”

“I don’t want any of you to forget who I am,” he said, blue eyes meeting Cassandra’s. “I want every man, woman, and child I meet to see me and think, ‘that’s the makeup of actors and whores, the kind of makeup a man who sells himself wears’. And then I want them, knowing that, to decide if they really want me to be the Herald of Andraste.”

“It’s not about what they want,” began Cassandra.

“Exactly,” said Jethann, lining his other eye. “I’m what they get, and I want them to see the whole package.”

“That is…” Cassandra hesitated, and Jethann expected her to say something along the lines of ‘ridiculous.’ “…Admirable.”

“Why thank you, I’ve got a lot of tricks like that,” he said, winking and finishing up his makeup, pressing his lips together to finish his lipstick.

She stood there for a few more seconds. He put his makeup kit away, meeting her gaze. Suddenly she thrust forward her hand. He took it, and she pulled him off his seat.

“Your fighting is abysmal,” she said. “I’m going to teach you how to use a weapon.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Oh? And what have I done to earn this privilege?”

“You need to learn,” she said. “I can’t- the Inquisition can’t have you getting injured like that again. You’re important.”

His fingers ghosted his side. “My body agrees,” he said. “But what happened to me staying out of the way until you needed me?”

“I was wrong,” she said. Those were three words that few people liked to say, Jethann thought, and she said them with her chin jutted out and her head held high.

“Okay,” he said, unsheathing his daggers, hair whipping slightly as the wind blew through the ruins. How many people had unsheathed their weapons for a different purpose here? Was that what Solas was thinking about as he stepped over plants and vines, feet finding purchase in the rock soil, long fingers trailing over the lichen covered ruins, eyes gazing at something far away? The stones here were ancient.

“This is all well and good, Cassandra,” said Varric, pulling Jethann out of his daze. “But you don’t know a thing about sticking someone with the pointy end of a dagger. You’ve a big sword kind of a gal, after all. I doubt Jethann could even lift that.”

“You’ve be surprised at what I could lift.”

Cassandra made a fairly unhappy noise, but nodded. “You’re right, Varric. I don’t know anything about daggers.”

She looked at Varric expectantly. Varric didn’t reply, the smirk on his unshaven face spreading.

“Will you join us, please?” she added.

“Of course,” he said, and soon Jethann was in the midst of weapons training from a Nevarran Seeker who was kinder than she appeared and a dwarf with a knack for telling stories and a crossbow that created them.

* * *

 

“You city elves don’t ride any beasts, do you?”

“Not that I know of,” said Jethann. “Although I’ve ridden a few in my time.”

Varric snorted from behind him. There was a muffled swearing that followed, which Jethann was sure meant that Cassandra had elbowed him or something of the sort.

Horsemaster Dennet sighed, not responding for a time. The building around them said Ferelden in every plank, every hard-won board of wood nailed together to form this man’s farmstead. Hard work and long days, that was the Ferelden way- but Jethann had to admit, it was a nice home. If he’d been born in Redcliffe, Dennet would have been the kind of man who’d have let him sleep in his barn.

Jethann shifted his feet, the bottle of interesting alcohol he’d found in Dennet’s home sitting in his pack- the man had surprisingly agreed to part with it.

Dennet was still thinking, and Jethann cleared his throat. He was beginning to wonder if he was the type of older fellow to visit a brothel and get distracted halfway through.

“I was just thinking about those Dalish elves,” said Dennet. “They ride Halla, you know.”

“Do they?” said Jethann, who had heard rumors of such a thing. “I suppose they’re savages for it.”

“Not at all,” said Dennet, whose white eyebrows were so mismatched with his dark skin that, when they sprung up in surprise, had a comical look to them. “I would give much to ride one of them.”

Jethann couldn’t help but smile, and Dennet coughed a bit. “So about the horses for the Inquisition. I can’t send them until I know they’ll be safe. Can’t march a thousand horses up the King’s Road without knowing. I’ll need you to talk to my wife and boy about what you need to do. You’ll have mounts once I know they won’t end up as a cold winter’s breakfast.”

“Okay,” said Jethann reluctantly. “I’ll run your errands for you, since the Inquisition needs those horses.”

“I have a good sturdy mount set up for you,” said Dennet. When he smiled the skin around his eyes crinkled. “If you want, my daughter Seanna has some races she can set up for you. Silly girl likes them.”

Jethann thanked him and headed towards the mount he’d mentioned, slightly nervous. He’d never ridden a horse before. Only in the past few years, in his travels, had he encountered a significant amount of them.

Seanna, Dennet’s daughter, met them as they approached. Jethann’s eyes flicked to the horse nervously, and with a bit of nervous laughter he said, “Well, look who’s been hiding away back here.”

She laughed. “I only date girls, sorry, and only if they’ve got a horse big enough for two.”

“Sadly, I don’t fit either of those qualifications,” he said. “So I heard you have a horse set up for me?”

“Yeah, and some races,” she said. “Have you ever ridden before?”

He shook his head slightly, keeping the flush off his face. She smiled a bit too kindly and said, “Don’t worry, I’ll show you how.”

He listened to her instructions and managed to clamber on the horse with a bit of help, grateful that no one laughed at him. Everyone was, however, decidedly looking away, and it was getting harder to stop his face from reddening. He straightened himself up in the saddle and listened to Seanna’s instructions intently. When she finished she added, “Ready for the easy race?”

He nodded. “Ready as I can be,” he said, patting the horse (it felt so strange to be on top of this living, breathing creature, and a bit uncomfortable, no one ever talked about how uncomfortable it was) and pressing into the horse’s side with his feet a bit more gently than Seanna had recommended. The horse got the message and began moving.

At first he had to cling to the saddle as the horse picked up speed, eyes clamped shut as the wind rushed past him. After a few seconds of that he realized he should probably see where he was going and opened them, adjusting his position on the saddle to properly do that bouncing thing Seanna had mentioned. The countryside, so vibrant in its greens and reds, the pathways that wound through the Ferelden land so intricate you could live there all your life and not know all of them, was a blur to him.

His hair whipped around his face. He didn’t care how tangled it would be. For a brief moment he let go of the saddle and spread his arms out, collapsing back to the saddle with a laugh after he swayed. He’d never expected to be here, in Ferelden, riding a horse for the first time. He passed a rift and the green tinge of the magic tinted everything around him. It was beautiful, the way the leaves crinkled and rustled as he went through them, the clear water of puddles after a rain, the humble farms, the way the land here seemed as much as part of the people. A shiver of Ferelden past ran through you when looked at the land a bit harder, the history all there under the surface.

Right then, Jethann felt like he might be able to pull this whole thing off. Like he wasn’t a fraud, or a prostitute out of his place. Cassandra might say something ridiculous and melodramatic about him seeing the Maker’s light- but maybe it was more along the lines that he was free, and happy enough, and that he really liked riding horses.


	5. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, chapter four! Warning for some violence near the beginning, hope you like it!

Jethann wasn’t sure what it was about Haven. He almost found himself enjoying sitting on a ledge and swinging his legs, despite the cold and the body count racking up against him, haunting him when he closed his eyes. He hadn’t joined a brothel to kill people- but no one else seemed bothered, and he wasn’t sure how to bring it up.

He sighed, drawing lines in the snow with a gloved finger. They were back in Haven after a few weeks in the Hinterlands. Varric and Cassandra showed him how to fight more and more with every battle, and they had managed to destroy both the mage and templar encampments, as well as getting horses for the Inquisition by setting up watchtowers and killing wolves. They had helped refugees, closed rifts, and found many of those strange shards. They’d even found the key to an underground hideout of the Carta in a place called the Western Fortress. Jethann killed mages, templars, bandits, anyone who got in their way.

He sighed again. He was helping people, yes, but he had to kill people to do it.

“There you are!”

Jethann hardly had time to realize he was being spoken to before there was a man in his face, a large mean one with a scraggly beard and muscles the size of Jethann’s head. He was the kind of man who’d come in with the sailors at the Rose, all sweaty and brazen from a long day’s work, ready to spend their overtime pay.

“What do you-” was all he got out before there were hands around his throat. He was pushed back onto the cold stone, the man’s eyes only inches from his, his unwashed hair tickling Jethann’s cheek. He wanted to scream, to say “What the fuck is your problem?” but he couldn’t, not with the hands on his neck squeezing so tightly.

“The Maker wouldn’t send an elf! You had to have killed her!” the man was yelling. Jethann shut his eyes and beat at his arms, feeling the man’s spittle on his face. “You killed her! Andraste wouldn’t bless a whore! You killed the Divine! You can’t trick me with your- your whorish charm, you murdered her and I’m going to-“

Jethann’s hands found purchase on a rock and he grasped it, hitting the man in the head before he could continue to scream in Jethann’s face. The man paused long enough for his grasp on Jethann’s face to loosen, and he scrambled backward, limbs flailing, half slipping over the ledge he’d been perched on.

The air hummed and the man went sprawling backwards, an arrow in his shoulder. He fell over the ledge and onto the ground several feet below. Jethann looked over and saw the spymaster, Leliana, with her bow strung, ready to shoot again. She barked an order to several soldiers to drag the man away. Only when he was out of sight did she turn to Jethann and lower her weapon.

Jethann was still sprawled on the ground, wiping the man’s spit off his face, his makeup smearing with it. His throat felt like it was on fire. Leliana strode over to him and helped him up, frowning. “He should never have gotten so close to you. I should have known.”

Jethann didn’t know what to say. Something witty, probably. That’s what he was expected to say, after all. That’s what he was known for. He rubbed his throat. It was raw, the skin heated and red.

Leliana saw the motion and said, “Come with me, I’ve got some healing potions in the Chantry. Let’s get you taken care of.”

He followed her for a few steps, walking slightly behind her as his face continued to flush and he looked around, wondering what people were thinking. Had they noticed? How many of these people honestly agreed with what the man had screamed?

When he spoke, the words came out cracked and harsh. “He wasn’t wrong.”

Leliana stopped and looked at him, eyes narrowing. She was hard to read, that one, hiding under her hood all the time. “Wasn’t wrong?”

“Andraste would never pick me,” said Jethann, staring at the mark on his hand, the words barely making it past his bruised throat, the syllables harsh on his ears. “This is a fluke, or something wrong…something bad. I’m not fit for this. It wasn’t meant for me.”

He closed his fist and avoided looking at Leliana. She’d berate him for sure. Or worse, agree with him.

“No,” she said softly. “That isn’t true. You’re not any lesser, and Andraste wouldn’t look at you like you were. She’d pick someone with a good heart…and she did.”

“I can’t fight,” he said, pushing past her and into the Chantry. “I can’t speak the way some of you can- making everyone listen with a couple words. The only thing I’ve ever been good at…” He trailed off, the pain in his throat rising and stopping him from saying anything else. Leliana didn’t need to ask what he was going to say.

Leliana fished the potion she’d talked about out from her bag once they were inside and handed it to Jethann, beckoning him with her past the Chantry mothers (he saw Giselle, but didn’t stop to talk, and probably wouldn’t) and into the back room where she and the others pored over that giant map.

Cullen and Josephine were there, arguing over the position of one of the pieces on the map. Arguing was too strong of a word, he corrected to himself, poking his fingers into the vial and rubbing the solution on his raw throat. The hot tense feeling around his neck lightened immensely. He could no longer feel the ghost of those hands on his neck.

“What’re you doing back here?” said Cullen amicably as he tore himself away from his debate.

“I brought him,” said Leliana. “He’s an important member of the Inquisition and should have a say in what we do here.”

She pulled out a chair for him, the bottom scraping against the old wooden floor. He sat, still massaging his throat.

“Are you okay?” said Josephine, thick Antivan accent filling the air, her brows narrowed in concern. “What happened?”

“We had a little incident outside,” began Leliana.

“It’s fine now,” said Jethann, smiling because that was what he did. “No big deal. It’s all over now.”

Josephine moved from her spot at the war table, approaching him and moving past Leliana with a quiet ‘excuse me’. She carried herself with such poise- Jethann rather liked it.

“We haven’t gotten much of a chance to talk,” she said, dipping her quill in her ink and smiling. Quite an ingenious set-up she had with that board of hers. Jethann offered her a smirk, wanting to avoid talking as much as he could.

Behind them, Leliana and Cullen were continuing the conversation Josephine had left off. He caught a few words about a Ferelden nobleman who wanted refugees off his land before Josephine continued talking.

“I wanted to ask you if you’ve been treated unkindly because you’re an elf,” she said, brushing a lock of curled hair out of her eyes.

He stared at her.

“If we’re to convince the world that Andraste’s herald is an elf, then we must provide a united front,” she said. “We must let Thedas know that we believe in you.”

Leliana overheard the conversation. “I don’t think now is the time,” she said, breaking off the conversation with Cullen.

“I was just strangled,” said Jethann, a decade of refusing to be ashamed of himself rising up and preventing him from looking away from Josephine. “Because I’m an elven whore, and your people don’t want me.” He flexed his left hand and turned it towards the advisors. Cullen raised his head from the war table, keen eyes watching him.

“That’s horrible,” said Josephine, looking at Leliana with wide eyes. Jethann felt a pang of remorse. She didn’t know what it was like to be in his position, it was true, but she was trying to look out for him.

Leliana sighed. “We’re going to have to do something about this,” she said. “I’ll send some of my people out disguised as commoners, to change the general opinion of you. If you were just an elf we would be better off, I think, but-”

“But I’m not,” he said. “I’m a common whore, and the idea of me being part of anything like this, let alone the Herald of Andraste, is offensive to those who’ve spent their lives shunning people like me.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, which had been mussed up during the fight. He knew he needed to check up on his makeup, to see how much of it had been smeared, but he was tired and his throat still throbbed despite the potion.

When he looked back up, Leliana and Josephine were exchanging looks, blue and hazel eyes meeting to pass information with only the slightest of gestures and expressions. He wondered if he was older than the others there. Despite the way they treated him, he wasn’t some seventeen year old who’d woken up one day with the power of gods in his hand. He might as well be, he reminded himself. It wasn’t like he had any more experience with this than the random teenager would.

“Sorry if I’ve made things a little awkward,” he said, dropping his tone as pain flared. “My throat hurts and sometimes I don’t want to just…go along with this farce. But you need me for it, and I’m here.”

“We won’t let anything like that happen again,” said Leliana. “You have my word on that.” She turned away, back to the table. She was a dangerous woman. He wondered at who she was underneath all that armor.

Josephine opened her mouth, long eyelashes fluttering shut for a moment as she thought. When she opened her eyes she said, “I respect you no less than the others here, Herald,” she said. “Never think for a moment that any of us do.”

The woman spoke so earnestly that Jethann wanted to believe her. She was a diplomat, a woman trained to please others, but she seemed sincere. So did the affirming nods from Leliana and Cullen behind her.

“We’ll see,” he said.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” said Cullen. “But we really need to decide what to do about Lord Kildarn.”

Jethann recognized the name as the noble who wanted refugees off his lands. Jethann shifted on the wooden chair (hopefully there were no splinters waiting to sting his poor behind), sitting up a bit straighter.

“I have already suggested we send a polite refusal and nothing more,” said Josephine. “Engaging with him would be unwise and overcomplicated.”

“I know you don’t like my suggestion,” said Leliana, tapping the edge of the table as she spoke. It was warm in the Chantry, the heat of several fires keeping out the chill. Cullen in his armor seemed particularly of this. “But we can win his favor by harassing the refugees onto another person’s land.”

“No,” said Jethann. “Definitely not.” He felt a warm rush of blood rise to his face when they all looked at him, but he continued on with the same charm that carried him through life.

He crossed his arms. “Harassing refugees is a viable option now? I didn’t spend three weeks in the Ferelden Hinterlands finding supplies and ram meat for the refugees there for you to shove these out of the land they’re scrabbling around on.”

Leliana dipped her head, eyes glinting as she looked at him. “Your suggestion would be?”

“Help them,” said Jethann, and Cullen smiled. Must have been his idea as well. “Sent some of our soldiers to give them food and all that.” He threw his hand up in disdain. “Fuck the noble.”

“I agree, although perhaps not in those exact terms,” said Cullen. “Is that satisfactory?”

“Yes,” said Leliana. “I think so.”

“You’re good at this, Herald,” said Josephine. “Care to help us with some other issues on hand?”

Jethann shrugged. “Since I’m here, why not?”

He sat on the stool as they discussed the other problems they faced most immediately. Apparently one of Varric’s novels had had an unofficial sequel published and needed investigating. Jethann thought sending Josephine would be the best idea there, since Leliana should owe as few favors to people as possible as spymaster. Since Leliana was the only one without a lot on her plate, it was her spies he sent to Serault to see if the city had anything to do with Justinia’s death.

When they were finished Jethann sat back. “Well, that was fun,” he said. “We’ll have to do it again sometime.”

“You’re better at this than you give yourself credit for,” said Josephine. “You’re a natural at figuring out the war table.”

“This reminds me,” said Leliana. “The reason I was looking for you earlier is because we received a letter for you.”

“For me?” said Jethann, whose flush of pride at the praise was receding quickly at those words. “Maker, who could that be from?”

Leliana pulled a stiff envelope out of a side pouch. “From the Viscount’s home address, I believe.”

She handed the envelope to him with an expectant look. It was heavy in Jethann’s hand. Fancy paper, fancier than anyone he knew would use. “I’m sure you’ve read it already, spymaster,” he said, laughing for only a brief moment because it turned into pain so quickly. His throat would remind him of that man’s hatred for days to come. “Why don’t you tell me what it says?”

She laughed in return. “Where’s the fun in that?”

He looked down at the letter, at the neat letters all laid out in rows that, no matter how hard he tried, meant nothing to him. He’d spent the past month having the requisition scouts tell him the materials they needed, had tricked his companions into reading notes he found out loud, had managed to play off every time they’d come close to figuring out. “There’s no fun in this either,” he said. “Not when I can’t read it.”

Leliana’s expression didn’t change except for a slight and momentary raising of her lips, the tiniest of smiles. He frowned. She’d known. Josephine and Cullen, however, were surprised. It was a credit to them, he thought, heart thumping fast in his chest, that they didn’t react with more than several moments of awkward silence.

“I could go on another lecture about how lucky all of you were, blah blah blah,” he said. “I won’t. We can’t help where we’re born and how. Just...someone tell me who sent the letter.”

“A woman named Serendipity,” said Cullen stiffly. “I believe I…ran across her myself in Kirkwall.”

Flashes of the times Jethann had seen Cullen before ran through his mind. Sterner, angrier, commanding with harsh words. He had never visited the Rose, but he had accompanied Meredith on the times they’d searched it for their templars. Cullen had not been gentle with its workers.

Cullen was a smart enough man to catch the meaning of Jethann’s expression and cleared his throat awkwardly. Jethann looked back down at the letter.

“Did Bran get appointed Viscount then?” he asked, running a thumb over the fine paper.

“Good guess,” grunted Cullen, looking at something on the war table very intently.

“They had a thing for each other, even if she didn’t like admitting it,” said Jethann, holding the letter and standing. “I’d better be off. I’ve got a throat to find some lozenges for, after all. And I can’t forget the others, I need to say hello to everyone. How would Solas get to feel superior if he didn’t have me to ask ignorant questions of him?”

Josephine tried to hide a laugh but failed. He grinned. “Only joking, of course.”

“Don’t you want to know what the letter says?” said Leliana, cutting in.

“I’ll find a way to read it,” he said, waving a manicured hand dismissively and leaving the room. He kept up his unaffected exterior right up until he left the Chantry, where he was confronted with Cassandra. He took a step back, blinking from the light and the unexpected sight of the human towering over him.

“Are you okay?” she said, face open in an honest expression of worry.

“I’m fine,” he said, painted nails ghosting his neck.

“The rumors don’t say so,” she said, reaching a hand up and letting it fall again. She shifted her shoulders back, the sound of armor grating hitting Jethann’s ears. “They say some….some zealot choked you.”

“He did,” said Jethann, pulling his collar down to shower her his red and puckered skin. “Still hurts a bit.”

Cassandra rocked on her heels. “Be careful,” she said. “We can’t have- the Inquisition can’t have you getting hurt.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, saluting her with a smirk. She rolled her eyes and he grinned for a second before he turned away. The grin fell away the moment no one could see him as he trekked back to his original ledge. This was exhausting, all of it. He ran his hand over his throat and, for a brief moment, let his face crumple as the fear from earlier rushed through him. He was going to be overwhelmed sooner or later. He wondered if anyone would even notice.

* * *

 

Val Royeaux.

He hoped the days it had taken to get to the heart of Orlais would be made up for by the quality of the city they were visiting. He knew there were many shops in the capital full of beautiful clothing- the nobles who’d visited the Rose had often talked of their trips here, silly bedside talk to their prostitute, always exaggerating its glory because they knew that Jethann would never see anything more important than they were.

They had been wrong. Jethann was more important than they could ever dream. Maybe once that would have made him laugh (perhaps it still did, just a little bit less), but his expression was solemn as they entered the city. He’d considered wearing a mask like the Orlesians, as that particular aspect of their fashion had always interested him, but he had ended up going for the opposite approach, styling his makeup with a heavy hand. He applied powder, kohl, and all the tools of his trade thickly, accentuating his prominent cheekbones and bright blue eyes. He was wearing a set of armor he’d asked Harritt to craft for him, one that was more fabric than steel and was far easier on the eyes than it was useful in a fight. As he had told Cassandra, he did not want anyone to forget who he was and where he came from, and since Val Royeaux was the home of eccentric fashion, he had to step it up a notch.

As they walked the paved road into the city, the nobles around whispered. Heads turned in their direction. The gloves Jethann wore had a special opening in the left hand, so that when he waved at the nobility the green flow of Andraste’s mark would shine in their eyes.

He hear whispers of ‘knife-ear’ and ‘rabbit’ as they walked. Cassandra and Varric’s eyes flicked to him. Solas was walking behind Jethann, but he could imagine he was doing the same thing. His smile stayed firmly in place, even as a woman gasped and shrunk away from him.

“Just a guess, Seeker, but think they all know who were are,” said Varric.

“Your skills of observation never fail to impress me, Varric.”

“Rabbit, is that an Orlesian thing?” Jethann said conversationally, interrupting their needless banter. “I’ve never been called that before.”

“I believe it’s Orlesian, yes,” said Solas. “A reference to our ears, likening them to the animals in question. Less derogatory than knife-ear but still demeaning.”

Jethann rolled his eyes, but didn’t want to put the effort into figuring out if Solas was being condescending or not. Cassandra shifted uncomfortably next to him, eyes set straight ahead, not at all on his ears.

“You do have rather large ears, even for one of our kind,” said Solas, and this time his tone was a little more genuine.

“Oh, I know,” said Jethann, responding in kind. “I like them, I think they’re a good shape. Clients used to pull on them, which I wasn’t so fond- oh, we’re at the gates.”

One of the Inquisition’s scouts with those ugly green hoods was waiting for them. Jethann wasn’t used to the reverence that some of them looked at him with.

“My Lord Herald,” began the scout, biting her lip in nervousness.

“You’re one of Leliana’s people. What have you found?” asked Cassandra.

“The Chantry mothers await you, but so do a great many templars,” said the scout.

“There are templars here?”

“People seem to think the templars will protect them from…from the Inquisition. They’re gathering on the other side of the market. I think that’s where the templars intend to meet you.”

“Only one thing to do then,” said Cassandra, striding forward. As Jethann passed the scout he paused. Her eyes were puffy and red and her fingers were shaking. “Thank you,” he said. “You did a good job.” He didn’t know if it would be acceptable for him to pay her (having money was so strange, so new, he could go shopping in the city, even) so he didn’t. She smiled at him.

As they walked, he could overhear Cassandra going, “They wish to protect the people…from us? Return to Haven. Someone…return to Haven. Someone will need to inform them if we are…delayed.” The scout stood and nodded, saying “As you wish,” before obeying the order.

The whispers only continued as they walked into the market, but Jethann couldn’t find it in himself to mind much. The market was beautiful, with a huge ornately made building in the middle. The streets were far cleaner than ones in the Free Marches or Ferelden, and the merchants’ stalls were decorated with bright fabrics and flowers. He smiled a little, scanning for a shop that would sell clothing, hair accessories, or makeup.

The excitement didn’t last long, as the more he scanned, the more he realized he and Solas were the only elves in the entire marketplace. He’d heard from Varric on the trip there that the Empress had been letting more and more elven merchants into the main streets of Val Royeaux, but apparently this didn’t apply to the largest and busiest market in the city. Suddenly he was aware of the names that he was called, whispers behind his back that grew in volume and intensity the longer he was there. The grandeur of the city didn’t make up for the weight settling between his shoulders.

They walked around the marketplace. Jethann didn’t stop at any of the stalls on the way. He felt self-conscious enough without getting denied access to a store. They turned the corner and found a crowd of people gathered around a bunch of Chantry sisters, all wearing those ridiculous hats Jethann had only begun to see when he left the Free Marches. Chantry sisters might be annoying everywhere, but at least the Kirkwall ones had better dress sense.

They shouldered their way to the front of the crowd, Jethann keeping close behind Cassandra, who at times resembled a human battering ram.

“Good people of Val Royeaux,” began the Revered Mother at the front of the group of Chantry women. There was a templar, too, a rather cute one, next to her on the stand. “Here, together, we mourn our Divine. Her naïve, beautiful heart silenced by treachery.” Some people found Orlesian accents pleasing to the ear, but Jethann found that this particular woman sounded like she had something stuck in her throat.

“You wonder what will become of her murderer,” said the Mother, taking a step back and shaking her head. “Well, wonder…no more.”

Jethann did not like the sound of that.

“Behold, the so-called Herald of Andraste…claiming to rise where our beloved fell.”

The whispers were no longer quiet and subdued. Those little treacherous noises at the end of his hearing were now loud, and they shouted many things- whore, traitor, murderer, knife-ear. After the initial wave of yelling, the people’s voices fell into a rebellious murmur. Jethann was white under his powdered face. Cassandra moved closer to Jethann, one hand on her sword and one on his shoulder.

“We say this is a false prophet, no servant of anything beyond his selfish greed!” There was clapping mixed in the shouting now. There was hatred in this woman’s stern, twisted expression. Every fiber of Jethann’s being was an insult to her.

Were they going to attack him? If they did would they beat him and drive him out of the city, or worse? Jethann did not like the road this was traveling towards.

Cassandra and the others were looking at him. He was supposed to say something. Varric moved to nudge him into action, but he’d already opened his mouth. “You say I am the enemy,” he said. “I’m not. There’s that giant green glowing thing in the sky called the Breach, and we need to get rid of it before you can all argue about whether I’m the next Mafareth.” The comparison chilled him as the words came out of his mouth, but he crossed his arms and stuck by them. “Which I’m not,” he was compelled to add. “I’m just a man trying to help you, but you’re all too blind to see that.”

“It’s true,” said Cassandra. “The Inquisition seeks only to end this madness before it is too late.”

“But he’s not a man,” shouted someone from the audience. “He’s an elf!”

“And I’m an elf trying to do the right thing,” said Jethann angrily. “I don’t see you out there with a mark on your head, closing the rifts and stopping demons from eating your sorry ass.”

Varric shook his head. “Nice.”

“It is already too late,” said the Mother, replying to Cassandra. The sound of marching boots filled the air, and he looked over to see a group of templars marching in, led by an older man with gray slicked-back hair.

“The templars are returned to the Chantry,” said the Mother, backing up, her posture not matching her words. “They will face this Inquisition and the people will be safe once more.”

The templar in charge marched right past her, smirking as he did so. The next one on the stand threw a punch at the sister, knocking her to the ground with a loud thud. Jethann started forward, but Varric’s hand on his arm stopped him. It wasn’t his place, and she wouldn’t want his help.

The head templar turned towards the cute templar Jethann had noticed earlier and said, voice as abrasive as he’d ever head, “Still yourself. She is beneath us.” Apparently he’d wanted to help Chantry Mother as well. Jethann waved at the templar as the leader turned away. The man’s lips parted in a small smile before the leader began to speak, turning towards the audience once again.

“Hey, I don’t like her either,” said Jethann loudly. “But you can’t go around punching Revered Mothers, no matter how much you want to.”

“I can go around doing whatever I want,” said the man. “My actions have nothing to do with you at all.”

The man turned away, and Cassandra followed, long legs striding after him. “Lord Seeker Lucius, it’s imperative that we speak with-”

His back was completely turned now. Jethann no longer felt the urge to cover his eyes from the glint of his shiny templar armor. Cassandra followed him down the steps, and Jethann hurried after her.

“Lord Seeker…” she began.

“Creating a heretical movement, raising up a whore puppet as Andraste’s Herald…you should be ashamed,” he replied, voice rising. “You should all be ashamed. The templars failed no one when they left the Chantry to purge the mages. You are the ones who have failed. You who leash our righteous swords with doubt and fear. If you came to appeal to the Chantry, you are too late. The only destiny here that demands respect is mine."

“So you’re all for Chantry and religion and everything, but you refuse Andraste’s Herald?” he said, lifting his left hand and raising it. “That’s a bit rich, don’t you think? Going against Andraste’s will?”

“It’s richer to claim you are the Herald of Andraste, especially when you dress like a puffed up peacock on his way to a brothel!”

“Who said I can’t be both?” said Jethann, rolling his eyes. “But I’m not a peacock or on my way to a brothel at the moment.”

The Seeker made a derisive noise. The cute templar cut in and said, “But Lord Seeker….what if he really was sent by the Maker? What if-”

Another man, not in templar armor, approached. “You’re called to a higher purpose. Do not question it.”

Jethann winced. That was never a good sign.

“I will make the templar order a power that stands alone against the void,” said Lord Seeker Lucius, taking several steps in Jethann’s direction. “We deserve recognition, independence. You have shown me nothing, and the Inquisition, less than nothing. Templars, Val Royeaux is unworthy of our protection. We march.”

And just like that, the templars were gone. Jethann watched them go, not sure where to begin. He hoped he’d done okay. They’d stepped out of the crowd to confront Lucius, and since there was no more action, the people began to disperse.

“Charming fellow, isn’t he?” said Varric, rejoining Cassandra and Jethann.

“Has Lord Seeker Lucius gone mad?” said Cassandra, clearly still processing the information.

“I don’t know,” said Jethann. “I’m definitely not an expert on Seekers. Do you think we can reason with him?”

“I hope so. If not him, there are surely others in the Order who don’t feels as he does. Either way, we should first return to Haven and inform the others.”

Solas had joined them now, and was frowning. Jethann wondered if he was thinking of the rebel mages. Bringing the templars in would show a clear preference, after all. He wasn’t exactly sure where he stood on that, but he was beginning to think it wasn’t with the men and woman in shiny armor who liked to excuse abuse. Jethann didn’t much like abuse.

“If you think so,” he said, sighing. He didn’t want to go back to Haven just yet. First he’d shop, maybe, and hope for the best regarding service.

“Did you mean what you said about being the Herald?” asked Cassandra.

“I don’t know,” he said. “It felt right at the time, but it’s a bit much to believe that I’m the savior Andraste sent. I really don’t know.”

She dropped it, and he was grateful.

He’d only gone a few more steps before an arrow whizzed by his feet landing in a crack in the stones next to him. Still processing the events of a few minutes earlier, where he’d been denounced by both the templars and the Chantry in one swift move, he stared at the arrow.

“What’s that? An arrow with a message?” cried Cassandra.

Jethann reached down and pulled the parchment off the arrow, handing it to Cassandra. “You read it,” he said. “I can’t.”

Cassandra was more concerned about the message than Jethann’s words, but he saw the look Varric shot him. He’d be asked about this later, he knew.

“People say you’re special. I want to help, and I can bring everyone. There’s a baddie in Val Royeaux. I hear he wants to hurt you. Have a search for the red things in the market, the docks, and ‘round the café, and maybe you’ll meet him first. Bring swords. Friends of Red Jenny.”

When Cassandra finished, she frowned. “This seems suspicious.”

“I’ve heard of those Friends of Red Jenny,” said Varric. “Hawke did some work clearing gangs from the streets of Kirkwall for them. Paid good coin for good deeds, and that’s rare.”

“I want to check it out,” said Jethann. “Could be fun.”

It was then that he finally caved and went shopping, searching for the ‘red things’ in the market as he went. As he expected, he got dirty looks for being an elf as much as he did for the mark on his hand. He eventually saw another elf as he fished out the red purse from under a café table. She was sweeping the floor, jumping away from several male patrons who leered at her, calling out what they’d like to do to her.

“Aren’t you going to do something about that?”

Jethann’s face was impassive. “And get her in trouble for stepping in? She’s dealt with it before and she’ll deal with that again.”

“One of them is a ranked officer,” said Cassandra. “If you would like, I can tell Josephine what he looks like and have her destroy his career.”

Jethann smirked. “You really know how to cheer me up, you know that?”

When they were halfway around the market, a voice called for his attention. Another person set on reminding him that he wasn’t truly welcome in Val Royeaux?

“You are the Herald of Andraste, are you not?” said the man. He was wearing some hideous bastardization of robes Jethann had seen on that poor First Enchanter in Kirkwall. Dangerous, they’d called him, but Jethann knew dangerous, and oftentimes it came in the form of the templars who would abuse their prostitutes to blow off steam.

“That’s me,” said Jethann.

“I have an invitation for you,” said the man, handing a card to him. Again, Jethann handed it over to Cassandra, who read out loud, “You are cordially invited to attend my salon held at the chateau of Duke Bastien de Ghislain. Yours, Vivienne de Fer, First Enchanter of Monstimmard, Enchanter to the Imperial Court.”

“Thank you,” said Jethann to the messenger. He turned to the others. “It looks like I’ve been invited to a ball of some kind. It’s a shame I’ll have to go in this, isn’t it?” He said it smiling. He didn’t mind the prospect of going to a ball entirely, if he was honest. As long as he went in expecting to either get into a fight or be called several demeaning things (or both) he could look forward to it.

They found the third red purse, stopping to talk to a merchant who’d been frightened by the display by the templars. With a few honeyed words and a wink in the right place, Jethann was able to convince her join the Inquisition. By the time they headed out the gates the sun was dipping in the sky, and Cassandra’s muscles were being put to use carrying a few of Jethann’s shopping bags. None of them said anything about the coin he’d spent.

As they approached the gates, an elven woman in dark blue Circle robes appeared, stepping out of the shadows. She was thin and small, with pale skin and sad eyes. Jethann could tell the difference between a problem that could be fixed at the Rose and one that could not from one look at a person. Her problems would never be solved in a brothel.

“If I might have a moment of your time?” She had a calm voice, Orlesian but not overbearing, firm but quiet. Her eyes were light green. She had beautiful eyes, even if there was no skill Jethann had to lift that sorrow.

“Grand Enchanter Fiona?” said Cassandra, deep accented voice lilting in surprise. Jethann tilted his head. He had never heard that term before, Grand Enchanter. He knew what a First Enchanter was- everyone did- but not this new title. Could it be that she led the First Enchanters? Did that mean, then, that she was at the front of the mage rebellion?

“Leader of the mage rebellion,” said Solas, stepping forward. Ah, well, yes then. “Is it not dangerous for you to be here?”

She wasn’t carrying a staff. Jethann thought that’s what mages did. He didn’t really know anything about mages, really, except that Solas was one, that Idunna had been decent enough and had been one, and that they were carted away by templars against their will (he knew more, had flashes of memories of being young and watching a friend turn a rock to silver in her hand, but she was taken after that, and he had missed her). Jethann didn’t like the idea of living in a Circle all locked up, even if it was true that mages were dangerous. After all, even he was proving to be dangerous.

“I heard of this gathering, and I wanted to see the fabled Herald of Andraste with my own eyes. If it’s help with the Breach you see, perhaps my people are the wiser option.”

Jethann jabbed a thumb back in the direction of where the templars had been. “Well, yeah, if the options are you and Lord Seeker Ludicrous.” Both Solas and Varric let out a chuckle despite themselves, and Jethann was glad to see the corners of Fiona’s mouth lift ever-so-slightly.

“What changed?” asked Cassandra. “The mages weren’t so willing to talk to the Inquisition before now. Why now?”

“Because I’ve seen what you are,” said Fiona, gaze switching from Cassandra back to Jethann. “And I’ve seen the Chantry for what it is.”

“So you’re going for the side that’s better-dressed?” said Jethann.

“I think that might just be a side-benefit,” said Varric. “But you never know.”

Fiona shook her head. “Your banter reminds me of- ah, you’ve almost tricked me into talking about the past like an old woman. Forgive me. I will return to the point. Consider this an invitation to Redcliffe: come meet with the mages. An alliance could help us both, after all. I hope to see you there. Au revoir, my Lord Herald.”

That title didn’t sit well with Jethann- none of them did, but still, he hated it the least out of her mouth. “I believe you’ve charmed me,” he said, smiling. “Jethann’s old heart is all aflutter. I’ll do my best to make our date, Grand Enchanter.”

She shook her head, smiling as she walked away.

“You really are shameless, aren’t you?” said Varric, chuckling. “She’s older than she looks, you know. Elves have a different makeup, they don’t age quite the- but you know this, I’m sure.”

“You still haven’t guessed how old I am,” said Jethann. “Either way, I can promise you that I’ve slept with older women than the Grand Enchanter there.”

Cassandra cleared her throat roughly. “Come, let us return to Haven.”

Jethann wagged a finger. “Not quite yet.”

* * *

 

“Herald of Andraste! How much did you expend to discover me? It must have weakened the Inquisition immeasurably!”

“Sorry, honey, I have no idea who you are,” said Jethann, hands planted on his hips, eyebrow cocked. “You’re going to have to do a little better than that. If you’ve been to Kirkwall, give me the approximate date and your favorite position and maybe I can rustle something up.”

Solas and Varric snickering seemed like a running theme in the background of his life of late. He didn’t mind so much. They weren’t laughing at him, after all.

“You don’t fool me,” said the noble, who walked a little bit like he had a large pole up his ass. His accent was one of the thickest Orlesian ones Jethann had ever had the misfortune to hear. And he’d thought all of them spoke the King’s Tongue perfectly. “I’m too important for this to be an accident. My efforts will survive in victories against you elsewhere.”

There was a loud noise. The sound ricocheting off of walls made it a bit unclear, but Jethann was fairly sure it was something along the lines of a man getting socked in the stomach. Or the back. He wasn’t an expert on this sort of thing yet.

“Just say ‘what.’”

Jethann looked over. A blonde elf with a bad haircut and a clashing outfit was aiming a bow at the noble’s pompous head.

“What is the-”

The arrow went straight into his head, and the man went down.

The woman made a disgusted noise. As she approached he realized she was several inches taller than he was. Less bony, too. He felt a little self-conscious- he’d been around so few other elves for some time that he’d forgotten that he wasn’t just short because of his race.

“Squishy one, but you heard me, right? Just say 'what'. Rich tits always try for more than they deserve,” she said as they faced each other, Jethann trying to keep his line of sight off the dying man. Hopefully not dying, hopefully dead already. Jethann didn’t want to go like that, with an arrow in his throat. It was still a bit red from the choking as it was.

She knelt to retrieve the arrow, smirk spread across her face as she went, “Blah blah blah! Obey me, arrow in my face. So, you followed the notes well enough. Glad to see you’re….and you’re an elf.”

“You’re also an elf,” said Jethann. “Is there only room for one elf in this courtyard? Because last time I checked, Solas was an elf too. Are you still an elf, Solas?”

“I believe I am.”

“Okay,” said Jethann. “Then there are three of us. Are you uncomfortable, Cassandra?”

“What, why?”

He laughed. “Just wondering what it might be like to have the roles be switched for once.”

“You know, I like you,” said Sera, fidgeting with her bow and arrows as she talked. “You’re different. There’re all these rumors about you, you know, saying that you’re Dalish, that you eat babies, that you like to use that glowing hand of yours for funner activities. Say, is that last one true? Cause I’d like to know a bit about that.”

“I hadn’t really considered it,” said Jethann. “It’s been a while since I fisted someone. Haven’t really seen the need. Been camping out and all that.”

“You can fist someone in a campsite, you know,” said the woman with the bad hair. “You’re not all elfy. I like that. If you’ll have me, I’ll join.”

“I’m as elfy as I like to be,” said Jethann, an edge to his voice. “You’re not going to tell me who I am just because I don’t live in an Alienage or spend my time hunting deer in the woods. I’m as much as an elf as anyone.”

“Send that to the Chantry, because I’d like that as a prayer,” said Sera, who was apparently so enamored with her joke that she needed a few moments to compose herself, letting out a snorting laugh that Jethann found rather endearing. “It’s all good, innit? The important thing is, you glow. You’re the Herald thingy.”

“That’s me,” said Jethann. “My favorite title so far. You know, I just realized you haven’t actually told me who you are. As much as I like meeting in dark alleys with an intimate group, I like to know who you are and what’s going on before we get to the dirty bits.”

“The dirty bits, with you?” said the woman, chortling. “As if. But about what’s going on? No idea. I don’t know this idiot from manners. My people just said the Inquisition should look at him.”

Jethann made gestured his hand, telling her to speed up and get to the name part. She stuck her tongue out and said, “Name’s Sera. This is cover. Get ‘round it. For the reinforcements! Don’t worry, someone tipped me their equipment shed. They’ve got no breeches.”

He would definitely be inviting her along. There were a lot worse things, he thought as he slid behind the crates she’d gestured to, than fighting with an expert archer against a group of men wearing no pants.

* * *

 

“Did we really have to come in our armor? We’re so out of place,” said Jethann, sticking out his lower lip in a way designed to make Cassandra huff and puff. It worked.

“It’s not like that armor you’re wearing offers much protection either way,” she snapped.

He winked. “I look very cute in it.”

“Can’t deny that,” said Varric.

“If you really meant it, you would have squeezed my butt when you said it,” said Jethann.

“You don’t operate under those rules anymore, kid,” said Varric. He’d begun calling Jethann kid less and less. Maybe he hadn’t realized how ill-fitting it was. Jethann hadn’t been a child for what felt like more than one lifetime.

The chateau they’d been invited to was gorgeous. Jethann hadn’t expected any less, but Kirkwall’s confused collection of hastily built noble houses meant to remind their residents of places they’d rather be had nothing on the true thing. He hoped his shoes, muddy and worn despite the fresh polish on the top, weren’t leaving marks on the patterned stone floor.

“Master Jethann of the Inquisition,” called out a man as he entered. Oh, Maker, the only events like this he’d been to had been small, and he had been an accessory on someone’s arm, kept in a back room until the curtains were drawn.

Cassandra and the others hung back from this point on. He’d been the one invited, after all. It felt strange not to have his unasked for entourage behind him. How could he count on someone to laugh at his jokes?

“A pleasure, ser. We so rarely have a chance to meet anyone new. It is always the same crowd at these parties.”

There was a pause in the man’s words, and Jethann took a moment to appreciate the man’s intricate mask, the woman’s collar that completely covered her mouth, the hand embroidered outfits that would be ruined with one spill. Well, perhaps appreciated wasn’t the word.

“So you must be a guest of Madame de Fer? Or are you here for Duke Bastien?”

“Are you here on business?” asked the woman. Her voice was slightly timid. Jethann could see her coming to a place like the Rose in a pack of tittering girls. They would be split up among the boys on shift, and Jethann would give her a massage first. She would thank him after, voice quivering. Sometimes he missed the good days at the Rose.

“I have heard the most curious tales of you. I cannot imagine half of them are true,” she finished.

“I can help you narrow them down,” he said. “If the rumor says I killed them, probably false. If it says I slept with them, probably true.”

“Oh? You should tell us more about that,” said the woman. “The Inquisition should attend more of these parties.”

Jethann’s eyes flicked to the right, where a man was descending the stairs. “The Inquisition,” he scoffed, throwing his hands in the air. “What a load of pig shit! Washed-up Sisters and crazed Seekers? No one can take them seriously. Everyone knows it’s just an excuse for a bunch of political outcasts who want power.”

“I’m actually more interested in stopping all the killing that’s going around,” said Jethann, facing the man, fluttering his dark eyelashes and letting his smile lean to the left, the perfect kind of smirk to piss this man off. “But make lies up about us if you want, I’m sure that makes you feel better.”

The man’s eyes settled for one brief second on Jethann’s ears, and he instantly knew the turn this conversation would take. “The Inquisition has proved itself to be nothing by relying on a knife-eared slut to be their savior. Wouldn’t you be better off unzipping my trousers and putting your tongue to the use it was meant for?”

Jethann had been called such things before. He didn’t move when the man approached him, towering over the slender elf, his bad breath close in Jethann’s face. This didn’t change when the man was frozen in place by Madame de Fer, who appeared as if out of nothing. His expression was cold.

“My dear Marquis, how unkind of you to use such language in my house….to my guests.”

She descended from the stairs, her clothes more understated than the rest of the guests, save perhaps the hat. For once, he didn’t pay much attention.

“You know such rudeness is….intolerable.”

The man, still very close to Jethann, made a noise of distress. She relaxed the magic, and he said, “Madame Vivienne, I humbly beg your pardon!”

“You should,” she said. “Whatever am I going to do with you now, my dear?”

Jethann narrowed his eyes at her, then returned his gaze back to the man.

She turned to Jethann. “You’re the wounded party in this unfortunate affair. What would you have me do with this foolish, foolish man?”

Jethann considered it, blue eyes meeting the terrified ones in front of him. “Release him,” he said shortly.

“By the grace of Andraste...” Jethann didn’t hear the next part. He wasn’t really listening, not until the man was freed from the ice grip.

When he was, Jethann took a step forward and slapped him across the cheek, hard. The man staggered backward, barely recovered from the freezing, hand flying to touch his quickly bruising face. “Don’t you ever speak to me again,” he said, voice low. “Don’t you ever think you’re allowed to be in my presence again. Consider yourself lucky I haven’t cut off your cock and balls as well.”

He spat in the man’s face and shoved him away, turning away as he stumbled out of the room. When he was facing Vivienne again, he was smiling. “What is it you wanted to talk about again, dear?”

 

 

 


	6. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for violence, mutilation (not descriptive), and anti-sex worker language.

When the man named Krem had said to look for his commander in the Storm Coast, he’d said they’d show the Inquisition what their group was capable of.  So he stood back while Cassandra, Vivienne, and Sera joined. He didn’t stop them, but he certainly wasn’t going to personally get involved when it wasn’t his fight- besides, he wasn’t any good at fighting anyway.

When it was all over Jethann trudged down from his perch to greet the company of soldiers down there. He was wearing a helmet he’d pilfered off one of the corpses he’d passed. It was rather unflattering on him, but he’d rather look undignified for a little while than deal with his hair in the rain. Rain seemed to be one of the biggest assets the Storm Coast had to offer.

The biggest ass, however, likely belonged to the qunari Jethann was approaching. Big was the word for the man, from his horns to his sword.

“Chargers!” the qunari was shouting as Jethann approached. “Stand down. Krem! How’d we do?”

He skidded to a halt next to Cassandra, who was panting slightly as she wiped her blade clean. “Glad you could join us,” she said, rolling her eyes.

He shrugged. “I’m watching, aren’t I? That’s what I’m here for.”

The qunari finished his conversation with his lieutenant and turned to Jethann. “So you’re with the Inquisition, huh? Glad you could make it. Come on, have a seat. Drinks are coming.”

“That’s me,” said Jethann. “Part of the Inquisition, as funny as that might seem. You know, I don’t think I’ll take you up on that seat. I’m wet enough as it is.”

He wouldn’t say the qunari was attractive in the conventional sense of the word, but there was a charm in his grin and the sheer bulk of the fellow. Jethann probably wouldn’t turn down a tumble with him if given the chance.

“Iron Bull, I presume?” he said, craning his head up to meet the qunari’s gaze.

“Yeah the horns usually give it away,” said Bull. “You know, I hear you’ve got a reputation for that sort of thing.”

“Oh?” said Jethann. “Last time I checked I didn’t have horns, but maybe I missed something.”

“No, riding bulls,” said the qunari with a smirk.

“You’re a funny one, I see,” said Jethann. “What was it you wanted to talk about?”

Bull let them over to a rock, where he sat down. Jethann shuddered at the idea of all the wet cold surface touching his bottom. He’d spent years wandering Ferelden in looks of work- now that he had a tent to return to he wanted to stay as dry as possible.

“I assume you remember Cremisius Aclassi, my lieutenant?”

“Mmm, hard to forget,” said Jethann, winking. Cassandra scoffed behind him. He could hear her now, asking if he ever took anything seriously. The answer was yes, but she didn’t need to know that.

“Ah,” said Krem, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, his serious expression looking a bit fake at Jethann’s words, especially with the shifting of his feet. “Good to see you again.” He turned his attention to the Iron Bull and added, “Throatcutters are done, Chief.”

“Already? Have them check again. I don’t want any of those Tevinter bastards getting away. No offense, Krem.” The big qunari chuckled after he said it. A running joke between the two men, Jethann took it.

“None taken,” said Krem, shrugging. “At least a bastard knows who his mother was. Puts him one-up on you qunari, right?”

Jethann snickered at that, pulling his attention off the lieutenant as he left and back to the qunari, who was speaking. So big.

“So, you’ve seen us fight. We’re expensive, but we’re worth it. And I’m sure the Inquisition can afford us.”

Jethann thought of Josephine, poring over the books day after day. If only the Herald had been a human, he’d overheard one of her assistants whispering, or at least an elf without a reputation. He wasn’t sure the Inquisition was as well off as the Iron Bull assumed.

“So when you say expensive…” he said, motioning for the Iron Bull to explain further.

“Wouldn’t cost you anything personally. Unless you wanna buy drinks later. Your Ambassador…uh, what’s her name, Josephine, we’d go through her, and get the payments set up. The gold will take care of itself, don’t worry about that. All that matters is that we’re worth it.”

“You all seem pretty good at the whole fighting thing,” said Jethann, who was beginning to wonder why the mark on his hand automatically made him fit for these sort of things. What part of his past made people think he should decide whether or not to hire a mercenary group?

“We are. But you’re not just getting the boys. You’re getting me. If you need a front-line bodyguard, I’m your man. Whatever it is, demons, dragons, the bigger the better.”

Jethann honestly hadn’t been sure about hiring these people- but the idea of a giant qunari bodyguard that wasn’t even bad looking was too much to pass up. He had a long way to go before his attempts at fighting would be anything to speak of, and protection was a powerful incentive.

The Iron Bull stood up and passed Jethann, turning to face him again. “And there’s one other thing. Might be useful. Might piss you off. Ever hear of the Ben-Hassrath?”

“Not even once,” said Jethann.                                     

“It’s a qunari order. They handle information, loyalty, security, all of it. Spies, basically. Or, well, we’re spies. The Ben-Hassrath are concerned about the Breach. Magic out of control like that could cause trouble everywhere. I’ve been ordered to join the Inquisition, get close to the people in charge. And send reports on what’s happening. But I also get reports from Ben-Hassrath agents all over Orlais. You sign me on, I’ll share them with your people.”

Well that was different. The guy was upfront about it, which Jethann appreciated. “Most spies don’t just tell you what their game is,” he said mildly, remember an attractive young woman who’d come into the Rose for information and had ended up with a very different sort of night.

“Whatever happened at that Conclave thing is bad,” the Iron Bull replied. “So whatever I am, I’m on your side.”

“Nice of you to tell me, still,” said Jethann with a raised eyebrow.

“What, from an organization called the Inquisition? I’d have been tipped sooner or later. Better you hear it from me.”

Jethann considered it. It didn’t take long. The man was upfront about his intentions and had mentioned bodyguarding. “Okay, talk to Josephine about it,” he said. “You’re hired.” He hoped Josephine would indeed be able to come up with the coin without having to pull hair out to do it.

“Sounds good,” said Bull, turning to his soldiers. “Krem! Tell the men to finish drinking on the road. The Chargers just got hired.”

“What about the casks, Chief! We just opened them up. With axes.”

“Find some way to seal them! You’re Tevinter right. Try blood magic,” said Bull, directing one last sentence at Jethann. “We’ll meet you back at Haven.”

Jethann waved and watched them pack up for a couple of minutes before leaving, trekking up a path carved into the hill. Scout Harding had asked him to look for her missing scouts, and that’s what he intended to do. It was a strange thought, that these people were living and fighting and dying for this cause, to bring peace to the world and find the Divine’s killer, and that he of all people was who some of them looked for inspiration.

Sera asked several times if he knew where he was going by the time they’d made it to the two dilapidated houses on the edge of a cliff. Unsafe building practices, he thought absently, but what did he know about building out in the middle of nowhere. He’d spent most of his life in a city.

Jethann’s musings were cut short by the band of thugs standing outside the houses. Jethann’s hands went to this blades. There was a tense moment before their leader swaggered out. He didn’t say anything, instead pointing his blade at Jethann menacingly. He swallowed hard.

It was Vivienne who began the fighting, unhooking her staff from her back and expertly sending a stream of ice underneath the feet of their foes, making them slip and slide. Two of them never got up, an arrow sticking through their throats. Jethann felt the now-familiar fear right in his stomach and ducked as a big man with a bigger sword lunged toward him. He managed to plunge his blade into the man’s armpit as he passed, the only place that wasn’t armored. The man stumbled enough for Cassandra to stick a blade straight through his armor into his stomach. Jethann scrambled to retrieve his dagger only to look up and see the leader looming over him.

He froze in his spot, a well-timed result of Vivienne’s casting, and Jethann reacted on instinct, his blood pumping hard in his veins as he stood up and put all his weight into shoving the daggers into the man’s chest. The grips were cold as the ice crackled up the surface, and Jethann fell with splintering ice filling his vision when the man stood.

He got up, panting and wiping blood from where he’d bumped against a rock on the way down. All the enemies were dead. When he looked down he saw sludge oozing from the dead leader’s chest. The ice had done something to the blood flow. Jethann felt his stomach threatening to come up and had to look away.

“Are you alive?” said Vivienne coolly. She did not sound like she particularly cared about the answer. They hadn’t talked much since she’d joined the Inquisition.

“I think so,” said Jethann, panting slightly. “I don’t like…”

“Don’t like?” said Vivienne.

“Killing people,” he said. “I don’t like killing people.”

Her expression didn’t change, but her words were softer. “Few do, my dear. That is the kind of perspective you should keep in the future.”

“I’ll try,” he said, shrugging slightly. He felt awkward talking about...well, anything with these people. He was constantly out of his depth. He felt like there was a limit to how long he could fake everything.

“It will be hard,” said Vivienne, tugging a staff out of one of the dead woman’s hands and taking it as her own. “But worthwhile.”

“Hey, Jet!” called Sera, poking her head from inside one of the houses. “I found something in here.”

“What kind of something?” said Jethann. “If it’s another dick you carved into a wall, I’m sorry, but I promise you I’ve seen them before.”

“No, not that kind of something,” said Sera. “More along the lines of ‘gonna have to tell that pretty scout some bad news’ something.”

“And what do you mean by that exactly?” said Cassandra gruffly as she stomped over to the door with Jethann.

“It means the scouts that Harding sent to meet with the Blades of Hessarian are dead,” said Jethann. “And what’s that?”

“It’s a note,” said Sera loudly. “Do you not know what a note is?”

“I know what a note is,” he said. “I’m just not used to seeing one in a pile of dead scouts.”

She snagged it, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she straightened back up, badly cut hair flying. “Says something about an amulet,” she says. “You wear it around your cock and the whole camp of those Hessarian fellows start lining up to fuck.”

Cassandra’s face was red when she stammered, “Let me see that!” Jethann watched with amusement as she chased Sera around the shack, almost tripping on old boards several times in the desperate attempt. When Sera passed him in a colorful whirlwind he snatched the note out of her hand.

“What does it actually say?” he asked, handing it to Cassandra.

“It says…if you make this amulet that you can walk into their fortress and challenge their leader,” she said.

“Same thing isn’t it?” said Sera, cackling and running out of the shack.

“We’ll I’ll make sure not to do that,” said Jethann, rolling his eyes. “Sera’s idea is more along the kind of challenge I can face.”

He averted his gaze from Cassandra, bending down to search a small box. A few coins and some pretty baubles were all that were inside.

“You really don’t like killing, do you?” she asked.

“No,” he said, not looking up. “I really don’t. Call me a soft-bellied whore if you want. Isn’t that an insult you soldiers use on occasion?”

“I have heard it used,” she said, voice sharp. He’d come to realize that this was her way of admitting uncomfortable truths.

He sat up. “You admit it,” he said. “Not a lot of people would, not to my face.”

“I don’t believe in lying,” she said. “Especially when you would know it to be one. I expect you have…been with enough soldiers to know this.”

“I have,” he said. The bulk of them had been over the past few years, in barns and the cellars of inns. Soldiers were often rough and dirty, but Jethann could sense their pain. He didn’t mind it so much then.

“Does it bother you because it’s hard?” she asked. “Or is it…”

“Some sense of morals?” he said, rolling his eyes. “Is that really so hard to believe? I know you’re all about the ‘it’s worth it in the end’ and doing it for the Maker and all that. Just because I’ve spent years selling my body- selling time with my body, more accurately, doesn’t mean I want to become a…a murderer. Which I am now.”

He pressed his lips together, shaking his head. She’d probably reply with some Chantry drivel, and they’d still be at square one.

“I understand.”

“Hm?” he said, raising his eyebrows. “You do?”

“I can say what I do is for the Maker all I want,” she replied. She was grinding her jaw, her eyes narrowed. She was thinking of something else. Memories you hated didn’t always stay hidden. “At the end of the day, I have to answer for my sins. The people I have killed had lives too, no matter the way they were spending them. Some of them believed they too were serving the Maker.”

“The first woman I killed was a templar,” he said softly. “In the Hinterlands. The one about to attack Solas. I watched her die.”

“I will not lie to you,” said Cassandra. “The pain of that will never fully leave you. At least, not if you want to remain who you are. Vivienne was not wrong about that. You want it to hurt. That shows you are still yourself.”

Jethann almost made a joke about ‘wanting things to hurt.’ Something stopped him. He wasn’t much in the mood for that kind of thing.

“That’s some rough shit to force on me,” he said. “What were my choices again? Stay and serve your organization or leave and find myself at the mercy of zealots? You made me a murderer.”

She flinched. He regretted his words. “You’re right,” she said. He regretted them even more now.

“What can I do now, right?” he said, standing all the way, skirting the corpses. “It’s all decided and done. I’m everyone’s Herald.”

“Do you want me to teach you to read?” she blurted.

“Huh?” he said, surprised into dropping his smile.

“You can’t and I’m not….the best reader but I thought I could….help with it,” she said, rubbing one hand on the other’s gauntlet. “To make up for forcing you into this.”

“You didn’t really force me into this,” he said. He was lying, and she knew it.

“I want to teach you to read,” she said. “Don’t you want to read that letter from your friend?”

Serendipity’s letter was tucked inside his jacket, unharmed and unopened. There hadn’t been a point.

He took his helmet off for a moment to run a hand through his hair. It was growing longer than he liked it, and fast. There had been more important things going on. “Wouldn’t that be a waste of time?”

“We’ll work it into our schedule,” said Cassandra, with something along the lines of a smile accompanying it.

“Fine,” he said. “It would mean less work for the rest of you at the War Table. I’m not going be a burden like you think I am.”

Her eyes widened. “Like I think you are?”

“Back in Haven,” he said, waving his hand dismissively. “With Seggrit.”

“Oh,” she said, shifting awkward. “With the whole…”

“The ‘stay out of the way’ thing,” he finished. “Is that still what you want?”

“No,” she admitted. “It’s not. I am sorry I misjudged you.”

“Everyone does.”

“That does not make it right. Come, let’s get out of this shack. It smells, and Vivienne will likely kill us for leaving her with that hooligan for so long.”

“I like her,” said Jethann, pushing out of the shack and shoving the helmet firmly over his head to protect his delicate locks.

“I can see why you would,” said Cassandra.

Vivienne was massaging her brow when they entered the clearing. Raindrops were pattering against the soft ground. The wind was cool on Jethann’s face as it whistled through the dark green leaves around them.

“She has drawn penises on no less than five surfaces,” said Vivienne. “Please, let us go.”

Sera came laughing after them, and Jethann couldn’t help but join in.

* * *

 

Jethann twirled the twine in-between his fingers, trying to pretend like making the amulet had been an accident. The idea of him challenging anyone, let alone the leader of a mercenary group, was ridiculous. He’d be skewered in less than a minute.

“Jethann? Are you there?”

They’d stopped at a camp to rest and restock. Jethann was sitting on a fairly uncomfortable tree stump, spacing out while Cassandra cleaned her armor and Vivienne wrote some “necessary correspondence” to someone.

“Yes, I’m here,” he said, standing and turning his attention to Cassandra. “Off we go, right?”

“Something like that,” she said.

They were searching for signs of the Grey Wardens. Leliana had asked him to keep on the lookout for a Warden in the Hinterlands named Blackwall, but they’d taken a detour out of the way to come to meet the mysterious Bull first (he hoped they could afford him, he hoped he hadn’t made a mistake in hiring him). He might as well get a few things done while he was there.9

They’d only been walking a few minutes before Sera ran up from behind, rapping on the ugly helmet he was wearing with her fist. She let out a snorting laugh when he winced and swatted her hand away. “What’s that for?” he said, pushing a hand into her hair in reply.

“I was just wondering, you know, what it’s like to be all Heraldy!” she said, grabbing his left hand and waving it around. You could just see the glow of the mark from under the glove. He wrenched his hand away from her.

“What do you mean?” he said, slowing his pace so she could skid in next to him.

“What it went from being a little person to…not a little person,” she said. “That’s got to be really weird, being at the top all of a sudden.”

“Everyone’s still ordering me around, they just do it hoping I won’t get mad,” he said. He glanced back at Cassandra, who was scanning the horizon with no sign that she was hearing any of what he was saying. “After all, they have to tolerate me now that Andraste apparently came down from the sky and blessed me, or whatever it is they’re saying.”

“That’s the gist of it, yeah,” she said. “You talk pretty good for a street whore. Did someone teach you how to talk fancy?”

“I worked at a brothel,” he said. “Wasn’t always a street whore. The brothel was in Hightown.”

“And that is?”

“Kirkwall’s upper class district. I had to drop the poverty in my voice real fast to get clients. We worked on commission.”

“Is it complicated, that kind of work?” said Sera. “I like getting it on the normal way, but I can’t imagine the whole prostitute thing. Seems like it would get boring, doing it for a job. No fun if the person is ugly, bleah.”

“They weren’t always ugly,” said Jethann, snickering. “And I like sex. I made money doing something I enjoyed. The real problems were more along the lines of the way I was treated. But I figure you know something about that.”

“What?” said Sera, mouth dropping open. “I’ve never banged for coin.”

“I mean getting shit for who you are,” he said, bending down and pulling an elfroot out of the ground with an experienced hand.

“Oh, are you being elfy?” she said, wrinkling her nose. “You didn’t seem that sort.”

“I’m an elf,” he said. “Pretty sure anything I do is elfy, whether Solas thinks so or not.”

She laughed at that. They were on the beach now, stepping over large rocks. Jethann had lived in Kirkwall, had been at the Docks and watched the boats dock and the workers load the ships. He’d breathed in the salt air before…but nothing like this endless shore where waves lapped and the tide threatened to overwhelm the careless. It was an awesome sight, and Jethann understood the sailors who came into the Rose fat with coin and wild eyes a little better.

“You’ve got that right about Solas,” said Sera, snorting as she stopped to skip a rock on the surface of the water. “But I don’t see why you’ve got to make it all about being an elf.”

“When half your patrons pull your ears during sex or call you a knife-ear when they orgasm you kind of start thinking it has something to do with being an elf, yeah,” he said. “When I’d go out into Hightown and get accosted in the marketplace or targeted by guards as a pickpocket, I figured it had something to do with my race. When I got fired with the rest of the elves, I figured, you know, it had something to do with that.”

She didn’t respond immediately. Funny, he thought she had a witty comeback for everything. His fingernails were digging into his palm at the memory of being fired, and he attempted to skip a rock the same way Sera had done a few minutes before.

“I just don’t see why we gotta make everything about being an elf,” she repeated.

He looked at her incredulously. “You’re so for the little people, but you can’t even see that the elves need your help the most? Like, I’d say elves living in cities are the littlest of the little people.”

“You’re pretty short, yeah,” said Sera.

“Not what I meant,” he said.

“I know what you meant,” she said, scowling. “The Jennies work for everyone in need, not just elves. That’s the point.”

“I’m just saying that the elves are especially in need,” he said. “And you have the power to help them, but instead you mock them for trying to keep what traditions they have and for not pulling themselves off their own two feet…even when many of them work hard their whole lives for almost no pay.”

“I bet you were one of the elves who put flowers around the big tree on every holiday,” she sneered. “And praised the Dalish for everything they weren’t doing for us.”

“I left the Alienage when I was fourteen,” he said. “And before that I was…so no. Sorry. I just happen to care about people.”

“Elvish people.”

“Maker, is that what you think?” he said. “This is pointless.”

He started to slow down, trying to stand next to Cassandra and maybe talk about those reading lessons instead, but Sera grabbed his shoulder. “Wait,” she said. There was some emotion in her voice that he couldn’t identify. “Why’d you leave the Alienage?”

“To work.”

“But why?”

“You know more than anyone in the Inquisition that poor people grow up with shit lives,” he said. “Do you need to know the specifics?”

“Yeah, a lot of people have it worse than I did,” she said. “Are you one of them?”

Jethann frowned. “And how did we get on this subject exactly? What makes you need to know about my past?”

“Oooh sorry,” she said. “Didn’t know you were sensitive!” She stopped talking though, and ran forward to skip another rock. He fell back in line with Cassandra.

“Are you…okay?” said Cassandra. “I caught some of that at the end. She had no right to ask about that.”

“She can ask what she wants,” he said. “I don’t have to answer. Besides, she can ask Leliana. I’m sure she has all the info on me there is. You probably know too, don’t you?”

“I was going to ask you about your life,” admitted Cassandra, looking up at the drizzling clouds to avoid Jethann’s eyes. “I haven’t gone to Leliana, no.”

“You first,” he said.

She let out a harsh breath, obviously thinking. “What’s your motivation? Is it just to make it an equal trade?”

“There’s nothing wrong with us becoming a little closer,” he said, winking. She rolled her eyes, smiling slightly as she looked down.

“You really want to know? Even if our stories are different?”

“Even then,” he said.

“You know my name,” she said. “I am a daughter of the royal house of Nevarra, seventy-eighth in line for the Nevarran throne. I joined the Seekers of Truth as a young woman and was with the Order until they withdrew from the Chantry. I remained as the Divine’s Right Hand, carrying out her order to form the Inquisition, and here we are. That’s all there is to know.”

“Oh, royalty, fancy,” he said. “Do you want me to call you your highness?”

“I’m not actually going to be on the throne, you know,” she snapped, mouth forming a hard line. “Please do not call me that. My family is a very large clan. Half of Nevarra could say the same.”

“Really?”

“No, but it feels that way. I have hundreds of relatives so distant they need charts to prove we’re related at all. And they have them, oh yes. The Pentaghasts value their precious blood like it runs with gold.”

He made a noise of mild disgust. “Sounds pretty pointless to me,” he said. “All that energy wasted on something like that. You could be having fun if you really want to be useless. Sounds like the kind of thing you’d want to get away from.”

“It was a life worth getting away from,” she said. “The Pentaghasts are famed for dragon hunting, but few actually pursue the craft. Most are fat and lazy. They pay lip service to the Maker and only care for idle pleasures and past glories. My brother was all that kept me in Nevarra. Once he was gone, so was I.”

“What happened to your brother?”

“I…would not prefer to speak of Anthony. Some other time perhaps.”

He nodded, watching the waves crash against a huge rock formation as they walked. “I understand. I’d ask you about your parents and your country and all that, but I think I’ve made you think about your past enough as it is.”

“Thank you,” she said. “Did you still want to…”

“Answer questions of my own? Why not? Seems unfair to just leave you hanging.”

“Would you ever want to go back to Kirkwall?” she said.

“Well, it rains less there,” he replied, adjusting the helmet he was wearing. “That would be a big plus at the moment. It’s not good for ol’ Jethann’s hair.”

She scowled. He shrugged half-apologetically. “I wouldn’t mind going back but there’s…nothing there for me now. Oh, that sounds really silly out loud, like I’m talking like a hero from a song. But it’s not wrong.”

“No family in Kirkwall?”

“A brother,” he said, biting his lip, wondering if she could pierce his chest with her sharp eyes and see how fast his heart was beating. “That’s the only family worth mentioning. Maybe I’ll have Leliana write him a letter, let him know I’m still alive.”

“Maybe you can do it yourself soon enough,” said Cassandra.

“Sure, why not?” he said. He didn’t know what he could possibly write, though. Best not to think about it.

Their conversation was cut off by a huge sound, so loud it made the hair on the back of Jethann’s neck stand up. His ears twitched from their squished position under his helmet. He scanned the horizon to find what had made the noise…and jumped back when he saw it.

“What is that?” he said loudly, covering his mouth in horror. “What’s going on over there?”

“It’s a dragon,” said Cassandra.

“Not only that,” said Vivienne, stepping forward. “But I believe there is also a giant fighting said dragon. Truly remarkable.”

Jethann took several more steps back, stumbling over the rocks. They needed to get to the other side but he didn’t want to get close to that, not at all. He swallowed. This wasn’t what he’d signed up for. No wonder every house out here was abandoned.

“Let’s go around, shall we?” said Vivienne, taking the lead. Jethann followed her, unable to keep his eyes off the fight between the dragon and the giant. Magical creatures people said were all dead, or were rare, or were made up even, except they were here in front of him, making trees shake with their battle.

The dragon was beautiful. Jethann could feel his heartbeat in his throat. Every nerve was on edge at the sight of it. His palms were sweating inside his gloves. But it was beautiful, breathing electricity onto the giant with ease, the air crackling with tension, the giant swinging its club against colorful scales, white and orange and black in patterns the most skilled weavers couldn’t master.

“It’s scary,” said Sera. “Yikes.”

“It’s awe-inspiring,” said Jethann.

“You think so?” said Cassandra. “I’m surprised.”

Jethann ignored that, still looking at the dragon. He fingered the amulets the requisitions officer had made in his pocket. If that giant could stand up to the dragon and think to win, why not him? He might be able to do the same thing, just not with the dragon. Definitely not with the dragon.

He pulled the amulet out of his pocket and slipped it around his neck.

* * *

 

The amulet felt heavy on his chest as he stood at the rough-hewn gates of the fanatics going around slaughtering their troops.

“This is foolish,” said Vivienne. “You know I am not proficient in healing magic, do you not? If that man hits the pretty face you value so much I will not be able to fix it.”

“Not to mention your pretty heart and innards and all that,” said Sera. “You’re gonna risk it all for some dumb challenge? Seems kind of nobley of you, don’t you think?”

“It does seem foolish,” said Cassandra, echoing Vivienne. “Well-intentioned, but foolish.”

“I know I’m not much of a fighter,” he began, trailing off as he got closer to the gate. He wasn’t much of anything, really, but these people needed to stop killing Inquisition agents.

He never finished his sentiment. The guards had spotted him, but as quickly as they’d drawn their weapons they realized that Jethann was wearing the amulet and relaxed.

“So you’ve come to challenge our leader, huh?” said one of the guard, voice crackling with derision.

“The knife-ear might be here for another purpose,” said the other guard, snorting. “You know what they say about the blasphemous Herald right?”

“That he gets on his knees for anyone who throws a coin his way?” replied the first guard, not breaking eye contact with Jethann.

“I’m here to challenge your leader,” drawled Jethann, cocking an eyebrow. He rolled his eyes hard enough to show what he thought of this ridiculous banter, hopefully with enough sass to hide the fear thrumming through his veins.

“What, a little tart like you? You sure you’re not just here to service him?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” said Jethann, breezing past him and into the camp.

Sera ran up to him and giggled as she said, “Can you imagine, yeah? Servicing the whole camp? Do you think you could?”

“If I wanted to,” he said. “And they were willing to double up. It would take too long otherwise.”

The camp went silent as they walked in. Was it because there was a challenger or was it because it was him, the Herald of Andraste?

He walked up the rickety boards to meet their leader, who stood past the others at what, if he guessed correctly from the benches haphazardly placed here, was a kind of altar.

The man was big, with a long blond beard and broad shoulders. His hands were scarred from battles and the blade on his back was scratched and old but well-cared for. Fear settled in the pit of Jethann’s stomach, so thick it was a real, heavy thing that threatened to envelop his insides from within.

“So you would challenge the Blades of Hessarian?” said the man, his deep throat rumbling out of his chest. He laughed at the idea. Jethann was beginning to regret this. Maybe Sera was right, maybe he could just fuck this man and declare his dominance that way. Would certainly be easier.

“Or did you expect me to stand down and give up because you’re a little whore?” continued the man.

“You killed our soldiers,” said Jethann, pressing his lips together. “Did you really think you’d get away with it?”

“You want justice?” said the leader. “Come and claim it!” He let out a huge roar as he drew his axe, and liquid fear trickled down Jethann’s spine.

He jumped back before the swing of the axe could hit him, pulling his daggers out and gripping them so hard his hands felt like they might break. The leader was thankfully not wearing heavy armor, but red mercenary garb. The first two swings came so close to him that he could feel the air from the strikes streak past his face, and he stumbled backwards.

His companions drew their weapons when the mabari came out, barking and snarling. “That’s not fair!” gasped Jethann. The blond man laughed.

Jethann barely managed to avoid getting his leg mangled by a huge dog, ducking to miss yet another swing of that axe. He dropped a dagger in doing so, and bent over to find it, fingers scrabbling in the dirt. He glanced up to see a dog’s snarling jaws coming at him and shrieked, the mark in his left hand coming to life, blazing bright and loud, stunning all of the people around him. The dogs went limp, and Vivienne took the opportunity to freeze them for good measure. The blond leader’s eyes went rolling back into his head and he looked like he was about to topple over. Jethann, ears roaring with white noise and heart pounding, took his remaining dagger and stabbed into the closest part of the man he could reach, his groin.

The man’s pain pushed him past the magic of the mark, and he roared into action. Jethann continued digging the dagger in, bringing his other hand to join the first and dragging down. Blood spurted from the wound, spraying Jethann’s face, and he took his chance while he had it, putting all his weight into pushing the man over. The blade slid to the left, and when he had wiped the blood out of his eyes he realized he was holding the gory mess of the leader’s genitals. He crawled over to the leader, who was thrashing about, hands over his wound, and pried the axe out of his hand, using it to slit his throat and end his pain. “Who’s the whore now?” he whispered.

“That was quite the spectacle to witness,” said Vivienne, killing the last hound.

Jethann dropped the genitals in his hand on the body, examining his hand in disgust. He wanted to throw up, but he couldn’t do that in front of everyone, so he plastered a smile on his face instead.

“And you said I couldn’t do it,” he replied.

He looked around. All the people of the militia had watched him take down their leader and were now standing and watching them. He hoped he didn’t have to fight them too.

“So what now?” he said to the closest one.

The man turned and faced him. “Your Worship. The Blades of Hessarian are at your service.”

“You…really don’t have to call me that,” said Jethann. “Really.”

The man shifted, discomforted. “But you beat our leader. You’re the Herald of Andraste. If you want eyes on the Coast, here we are.”

“Then call me that,” he replied, wondering when he’d settled for just the Herald of Andraste. “So that’s it then? I kill your leader and you, what, work for me?”

“We serve Andraste and whoever proves worthy of wielding us,” said the man.

“Even if it’s me?” said Jethann. The man had to know what he was referring to.

“Especially you,” said the man, eyes on Jethann’s hand. The mark had finally calmed and was now emitting a soft glow.

“You’ll be loyal and all that?” said Jethann.

“Loyal to you.”

“Good,” was all he had to say to that.

When he was out of the fort he looked back, the rain washing the warm blood off his face before it congealed. There was a group in there loyal to the Inquisition because of him. No- they were loyal to him, for something he had done.

“I need to get back to the tent,” he said, striding ahead of the others.

“Your poor makeup,” said Cassandra, scoffing- but there was humor in her tone, and he turned back and stuck out his tongue.

He’d been challenged to a fight, and he’d come out on top. It had been bloody, and scary, but he had won. That had to count for something.

 


	7. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay! Now that NaNo is (finally) over my main focus with writing is returning to this, and I'm really going to try to write these chapters faster. Hope you like it! Warnings for prostitution.

Ask where the Grey Wardens were. That's what he was here to do. His head was constantly swimming with this and that, how to tell the herbs he'd picked about and the newest reports he got from the scouts, not to mention Cassandra's well-meaning but confusing reading lessons.

He was sick of traveling, honestly. So sick of it. The green trees and lovely blue skies of Ferelden were boring after you spent day after day on horseback traveling through the Ferelden wilds. He wasn't built for this, not really, and saying goodbye to the Storm Coast only to have the Hinterlands welcome him back wasn't exactly exciting. It was good practice riding wise, but it was boring and Jethann liked didn't like being this sore for such mundane reasons.

They were asking some lone Grey Warden about why all the other darkspawn killing recluses were missing. That was why Jethann was trying to avoid every damn puddle between the camp and this tiny little cabin. It was pretty, oh yes, the lake was pretty, but he was starting to get just a bit sick of pretty. What he wouldn't give for a city's bustling slums.

There was some kind of commotion going on at the cabin. Jethann had seen a few Grey Wardens pass through the Rose and knew the armor well enough to know that the man bellowing to a small crowd was the Warden they were looking for.

"Remember how to carry your shields," say the man, a shorter broad man with a thick beard and impressive demeanor. A very serious guy, someone who needed to let go a little and would never realize it. "You're not hiding, you're holding. Otherwise it's useless."

"Do you think he's got more chest hair than you, Varric?" said Jethann as they approached.

Varric snickered. "That is a hard contest to win, Jet. I doubt it."

"Either way, finding out could be  _quite_  the adventure."

Jethann stopped cracking jokes and raised his voice. "You're Warden Blackwall, then?" he said loudly. Leliana had seemed so serious when she'd told him to check this out- he couldn't blow it off, no matter how much he really wanted to.

Blackwall turned, expression darkening in an instant. His focus on his recruits vanished and switched on Jethann, who was surprised at his intensity. He stopped himself from taking a step back as the big man advanced on him.

"You're not- how do you know my name? Who would send someone like-"

They were cut off by the whistling of an arrow. Before Jethann could even begin to react Blackwall had lifted his shield arm and blocked it. Only a few seconds passed before there were mercenaries coming from every direction. Combined with the groups of ragtag templars they'd had to fight on the way there, Jethann wasn't pleased by all the fighting he'd already had to do in the short time since they'd arrived in the Hinterlands.

"That's it, help or get out! We're dealing with these idiots first!" shouted Blackwall, the timber of his voice resonating. "Conscripts! Here they come!"

The journey from the Storm Coast hadn't changed anything; he was still both terrible at and hated fighting. He wished he could just fast-forward through every one of these skirmishes he had. Sometimes he thought about how he'd willingly gone and challenged the Blades of Hessarian. Honestly, what had he been thinking? He was lucky to be alive.

Still, it had felt good, being respected for his actions for once. He kept that in mind when he ripped twin holes in the side of a mercenary, trying to harden his heart when he cried out in pain, distracted long enough for Vivienne to freeze his head so expertly his skin cracked to pieces and fell away. He fell to the ground, his skull shattering like fine crystal.

Jethann tore his gaze aware from the ice now melting into the blades of grass to stumble back from an advancing attack. He realized too late that raising his daggers to defend from a greatsword was a mistake and braced for the obvious death that had been coming for so long. It didn't come. Instead the attacker was cut down where he stood by the Warden they'd come to find.

"They sent  _you_ to find me?" said Blackwall, eyes narrowed as he judged Jethann's skills. "You're as untrained as they come."

"I could be less trained," said Jethann, snorting. "Trust me."

They turned to fight the rest of the attackers and found that the recruits Blackwall had been lecturing had taken care of the last of them. Blackwall's eyes scanned the bodies as he stuck his sword into the soft ground, falling to his knees to examine one of them.

"Sorry bastards," he said softly.

Jethann just watched as he stood back up and approached the recruits. "Good work, conscripts, even if this shouldn't have happened. They could've- well, thieves are made, not born. Take back what they stole. Go back to your families. You saved yourselves."

Jethann strolled up, hands in the pockets of the cute jacket he was wearing. Well, the jacket was cute at least. The rest of the armor, not so much. He wanted to ask Threnn to make cuter armor a requisition priority, but he didn't think she'd cottoned onto the idea. "What do you think thieves are made from?" he asked. "Out of curiosity?"

Blackwall lowered his gaze to meet Jethann's eyes. "Poverty," he said firmly. "Need."

Jethann smiled. "Oh, I like this one."

"You're no farmer," said Blackwall. "Why do you know my name? Who are you?"

"My name's Jethann," he said. "But the important part is that I'm an agent of the Inquisition. I think that's the important bit."

Cassandra actually let out a smile at that, while Varric laughed. "Is that the only thing about you worth knowing, kid?" said Varric.

Jethann rolled his eyes. "I guess some people are calling me the Herald of Andraste. I'll get back to you on whether or not I actually am when I remember everything that happened."

Blackwall's thick eyebrows rose. "The Herald of Andraste?"

"I didn't come up with the name. I'm not really here to discuss that, though. I'm here to see if the disappearance of the Wardens has anything to do with the murder of the Divine. You know, since that's what our whole Inquisition is about."

"Maker's balls," said Blackwall, pacing. Jethann wished he could just prod the man if only to see what kind of fabric that outfit was. It was very thick, not the usual summer clothing. "The Wardens and the Divine? That can't- no, you're asking, so you don't really know."

"First off, I didn't know they disappeared. But we do that, right? No more Blight, job done, Wardens are the first thing forgotten. But one thing I'll tell you; no Warden killed the Divine. Our purpose isn't political."

The Warden sounded more like he was trying to convince himself than anything, but still Jethann winced at the defensive tone. "Calm down big guy," said Jethann. "I'm not accusing anyone of anything. I'm just looking for the Wardens, and so far you're the only one we've found. Where are the others?"

"I haven't seen any Wardens for months," said Blackwall, large shoulders moving up in a shrug. "I travel alone, recruiting. Not much interest because the Archdemon is a decade dead, and no need to Conscript because there's no Blight coming. Treaties give Wardens the right to take what we need. These idiots forced this fight, so I "conscripted" their victims. They had to do what I said, so I told them to stand. Next time they won't need me. Grey Wardens can inspire. Make you better than you think you are."

This guy sure loved to talk. "No Wardens for months, huh?" said Jethann, crossing his arms and sitting back on his heels. "You must get lonely out here."

"I like the solitude," said Blackwall, thick brows furrowing.

"Oh, come now," said Jethann, a grin spreading across his face. "No man likes the solitude that much. Men have  _needs._ "

"Maker," said Varric with a smirk as Cassandra rubbed her temple in frustration.

"I…make do," said Blackwall, who shifted where he stood, looking anywhere but at Jethann's face. "Why are you asking this, anyway? Why do you care?"

"It's in my business to care," he said. "Or, well it used to be. But you look anything but relaxed, so maybe I'd do better in leaving you alone, huh? You don't know where the Wardens are, so there's really no point in talking to you anymore."

He waved and examined his surroundings, deciding he could probably make it back to the Crossroads in decent time enough to ask around and see if any of the refugees needed anything. This had been pointless, but Jethann wouldn't let the entire trip to the Hinterlands be that way.

"Wait," said Blackwall. "You said you were an…Inquisition Agent, right?"

"Yes," said Jethann. "Make whatever it is quick, okay?"

Blackwall frowned at him. "What kind of Inquisition is this? What qualifies  _you_ to investigate the Divine's death?"

"There was a big explosion and I woke up with this mark on my hand," said Jethann, holding his hand up and wiggling his fingers. "That was the clincher apparently."

"I can speak for the Inquisition, if you don't trust Jethann's word," said Cassandra.

Jethann raised his eyebrows. "Wow."

"Forgive me," said Cassandra, frown tugging down on her face even further. "But you do not look the most reputable at first glance."

"Probably because I'm not," said Jethann, working carefully to keep any bitterness out of his light tone.

"The Divine is dead and the sky is torn," said Blackwall. "Events like these…thinking we're absent is almost as bad as thinking we're involved. If you're trying to put things right," Here he paused, eyes hovering over Jethann's hair and makeup, his stature, his ears. "Maybe you need a Warden. Maybe you need me."

"I seem to be good at picking up strays," said Jethann. "And this one isn't even going to charge me like the Qunari did. What do you think, Cassandra?"

"You're asking me?" she said, tone lilting in surprise.

"You give good advice sometimes, despite yourself."

Varric chuckled. Jethann liked bringing him along; he laughed at all his jokes. It was a pleasant ego boost (never mind that he liked talking to the dwarf; it felt like he actually cared about Jethann).

"I think a Warden ally could be a valuable asset to the Inquisition," she said. She leaned down until she was at Jethann's height and whispered (or tried to, as Cassandra was not a gentle woman), "He may know more than he's letting on. We'll let Leliana know."

"Well then," said Jethann, straightening his coat. "The Inquisition accepts your offer, Warden Blackwall."

"Good to hear," said Blackwall. "Will I be working with…you then?"

"Is that a problem?" said Jethann.

"You aren't much of a fighter," said Blackwall. "No offense intended. And you look…"

"Like a whore?" said Jethann.

"Untrained as an Agent of the Inquisition," said Blackwall, color rising to his face.

"I'll make sure I'm more trained next time I wake up and am involuntarily recruited to save the world," said Jethann. "After all, you never know when that'll happen."

Jethann double checked the area for anything he might be able to use, collecting a few stems of elfroot and deciding to move on. It was strange, having all these people follow his choices and direction. Not a bad strange, though. He'd certainly felt stranger (and in more localized places, he thought, chuckling).

They set on the road, Jethann deciding that he'd take his new companion to one of their more unexplored areas to see how he fared. Jethann might have been untrained but he was learning enough to be able to recognize when someone was an asset. Plus, he considered himself a good judge of character (he had to be good at something, after all), and this Blackwall seemed like the kind of man he wouldn't mind knowing.

Vivienne pushed her way to the forefront as they neared one of the Inquisition camps. "Herald?" she said, eyes examining him, perhaps looking for a weakness.

"Yes?" he said. They hadn't talked much. He got the impression she didn't think much for him, but it was fine. If he let that bother him he'd never be able to get out of bed in the morning.

"I do not desire to travel with this Warden," she said. "Not right now. If you agree to it, I'm going to go back to camp."

"I'm not going to make you stay," he said. "Not now, not ever. I don't want people here if they don't want to be here."

She frowned. "Oh, darling, that's not the way to run an army."

"I'm not running an army," he said. "I'm walking around the woods with a few poor sods that think I'm worth following. I would say there's a huge difference there."

"The skill of keeping your followers happy and keeping your army content are not so different as you might think," she said, "But I suppose you'd rather keep your mind on…other matters."

"I would," he replied, smirking. "Think whatever you will of me, but I actually prefer to spend what little free time I have these days thinking about anything other than this terrible Inquisition business."

"I suspect you won't think it's so terrible when the dust is settled," she said, her mouth twisting into what might have been a genuine smile. "Perhaps I was wrong. You're cleverer than I gave you credit for. You might come out of this on top."

"I plan to," said Jethann. "Now didn't you want to get back to camp? We're passing it."

"I'm aware," she said. "I will see you on your return. I would prefer it if you didn't die."

"You're so sweet," he said, laughing. She walked the slope back towards their camp, and he looked back at the rest of the companions. "Just the four of us then."

"There seems to be a market on four companions traveling through the wilderness together," said Varric. "Five just seems like too many."

"Is that why-" began Cassandra, before clamping her mouth shut. Varric and Jethann looked at her curiously, and she turned pink. Jethann would have to look into that later.

Their path led them past a ruined wall, perhaps some sign of a king from hundreds of years ago. If Solas had been there he would have begun that slow walk, mind drifting away into thoughts of things that happened long ago. While Jethann didn't always see the point of knowing the history of every blade of grass in the Hinterlands, he filed the location away for later, thinking maybe he'd point it out as a good napping spot for the elf. Maybe he'd even get a big red sunburn on that bald head.

As Jethann passed a pacing Inquisition scout on the road, he overheard him mutter, "Damn it, Ritts, where are you?" Jethann couldn't help stopping in his tracks.

"What's wrong?"

The man tugged at his pastel colored hood in frustration. Not exactly the color Jethann would have chosen for their scouts, even if he did love pastels. The man was too agitated to notice who he was talking about, either for good or ill. "She was supposed to be checking on some apostate. I'm on duty here or I'd go look for her."

"We'll keep an eye out for her," said Jethann.

The scout nodded, distracted, returning to pacing back and forth.

"Is that what this Inquisition is?" said Blackwall, deep voice rumbling from his chest. "We stop to help every unfortunate soul we can on the search for the Divine's killer?"

Jethann snorted. "Do you have a problem with that?"

"Not at all, actually," said Blackwall, chuckling. "I rather like it."

"Good," he replied, starting the walk again. He wanted to pick up the pace, but his legs didn't want to cooperate. He was still getting used to all this walking they did. Better not complain about it though; he was already seen as the weak link.

Well, they were the ones following the weak link.

"Oh, what's this?" said Jethann, shielding his eyes from the sun so he could look at the stone fortress up ahead. He remembered a man he'd met at the Crossroads describing a place like this; he needed a potion that only his son could make to heal his wife.

The stones of this place were old; similar to the ruined ones on the path, he thought, although he didn't know much (or anything) about masonry. They approached the huge iron gates, and Jethann wondered what was in store for them. Those kinds of gates didn't usually precede a happy story (not that he listened to many tall tales, except those involving sex).

A woman was standing outside the fortress, her colorful and rather busty attire contrasting with the dull grey of the stones behind her sharply. She gasped as they approached. "I know you," she said. "You're the Herald of Andraste."

"That's what they call me," he said.

"Oh, praise the Maker!" she said, hands clapped to her face in shock. "The Herald has come! We have prepared for you."

"This should be interesting."

"Does this happened everywhere you go?" asked Blackwall.

"No," said Jethann. "Definitely not. Could get used to it, though."

"I'm Madame Anais," said the woman, eyes trained on Jethann. "The Maker has told me that you are the one to free this world from its sin, so I have set this place up in your honor, to calm the rifts that have appeared in the sky. The Chantry has fallen, and in doing so, shown itself in its imperfection. We believe you are the answer."

"Has it worked?" asked Jethann. "Have you calmed the rifts?"

She hesitated. "Now that you are here, do you think you could go in and bend the sky to the Maker's will?"

"Oh, since you asked so nicely," said Jethann, who really didn't like closing rifts, but since he was here…well, why not?"

The portcullis was opened, and they filed inside the fortress.

Jethann wasn't an expert of what to expect when you entered a huge stone castle made to keep invaders out, but it certainly wasn't what they found. He'd been thinking that there'd be some horses maybe, and gruff looking military men conversing in deep voices while a few mages milled around and practiced their spells.

Instead, they walked into a brothel.

It couldn't be anything else. To Jethann's left a man had a woman pushed against a pillar, her skirts pushed up and her legs wrapped around his waist. The stables seemed to have been converted into makeshift bedrooms, with hay substituting for beds and wooden gates apparently enough privacy. Jethann could hear the shrieking and moaning from where he stood.

"What is this?" said Cassandra, accented voice colored with an emotion akin to horror.

"We are attempting to emulate the Herald of Andraste in profession," said Madame Anais, whose name now made more sense. "Prostitution brought him closer to the Maker. We wish to follow in his footsteps."

"Shit," said Varric. "You have to admit, Seeker, it makes sense."

"No it doesn't!" said Cassandra shrilly. "Andraste was an Alamarri fisherwoman, and you don't see people giving up their trades and building boats!"

"You probably did a couple thousand years ago," said Varric. "Or whenever it was that she lived."

"We do not seek to emulate Andraste, but her Herald," said Anais as moans punctuated the air. Her eyes scanned Jethann's face for his reaction. "Does he approve?"

"I need to look around a bit more to decide that," he said, hands on his hips. "Wait here. I'll be back with the results."

They walked into a building on the right, pausing as the stench of old booze hit them. The lighting in the makeshift tavern was dim and Jethann could smell mold when he sniffed. They climbed the stairs up to the highest level, passing room after room of dingy mattresses, usually filled by some rambunctious couple.

When they hit the top they found a young elven mage working on ledgers. Jethann realized he fit the description of the mage they were looking for, and he retrieved the potion for the boy's mother, wondering what could have made him flock to the fortress brothel in the first place. None of his business, really.

He caught Blackwall looking at him, expression unreadable. Was he regretting joining the Inquisition? What was the man thinking? He told Cassandra and Varric to stay put while he brought the man to the balcony.

"So, how do you like traveling with the Inquisition?"

"You didn't tell me you used to be a prostitute," were the first words out of his mouth. So predictable. Jethann resisted the urge to yawn.

"I don't hide it," he said. "You didn't introduce yourself and ask if I have sex with people for money. Or used to, I guess."

"That's fair enough," said Blackwall. "I have to admit, I thought you'd be…"

Jethann didn't finish the sentence for him, although he could guess. He made Blackwall fidget uncomfortable instead, raising an eyebrow.

"Human," he said finally, the world falling flat on his tongue. "And definitely not a prostitute."

"You're honest at least. I didn't expect you to finish that sentence," he said. "I'm sick of getting called Herald by the same people who call me a knife-eared whore behind my back."

Blackwall sighed. "It was foolish of me. It's what you do and how you do it that matters."

"I'll say," said Jethann. "Especially in places like this."

He didn't expect Blackwall to laugh, but he was pleasantly surprised.

"I just want to ask," said Blackwall. "Do you really plan to find the Divine's killer?"

Jethann looked away from Blackwall, tapping his fingers on his chin in a semi-exaggerated way. "Yes, I do. But mostly I want to get everything back to normal, you know? I want to stop people from suffering because of all this bullshit demon business. All this supernatural stuff is making regular people miserable, and I still feel like a regular person, so it's only natural that I want to get all this back to the way it was."

"An admirable goal," said Blackwall. "For me, I'll be satisfied if we can find the bastard that killed the Divine. I don't know about all that getting things back to the way things were."

"Back to the way things were," said Cassandra, approaching them from behind. "Do you really think that's possible?"

"I can try," said Jethann.

"Even if you succeed," she said. "You will find you cannot return to the way things were for you. Will you really be satisfied with  _this_  life again after the Inquisition?" She gestured to the fortress around them.

He rolled his eyes. "You don't know what satisfies me, and I have a feeling you never will."

He peeked out over the railing, catching a good bird's eyes view of the people inside the stables, squinting at the writhing naked forms in distaste.

"Let's go seal that rift," he said, wrinkling his nose and climbing back down the ladders. They made their way to the back of the fortress, where a small grove was pulsing with green light.

They stepped on soiled hay as they walked, and Jet was glad to get away from a distasteful odor he'd caught whiff of when the wind changed. The grove, alive with light and warped plant life that had grown before the fortress had been repurposed, was quite honestly a breath of fresh air compared to the smell from before.

Jethann's hand began glowing and throbbing. It wasn't painful exactly, but it felt strange, like there was magic in his palm, prickling and vibrating around the soft flesh. He lifted it to the sky and connected it to the waiting rift, managing to disrupt the demons before they noticed him.

Then the battle began in earnest. Blackwall proved useful, swinging his long blade into their ethereal foes without hesitation despite likely having never faced this kind of enemy before.

Cassandra let out a roar, letting loose a strike that likely would have decapitated any normal person. Instead the spirit shimmered in and out of view, but Jethann had learned how to deal with these, finding a place to rest his blade in its corporal form as it materialized for a short few moments. The spirit let out some form of scream, fizzling out of existence.

Jethann turned to the rift and lifted his hand as Cassandra downed the last creature, power pulsing from his hand and sealing the rift in the sky. He didn't know it, but the green light reflecting onto his face made him look…well, if you asked Cassandra in that moment, she would say powerful.

"You did it!" said Madame Anais, running to the grove. "You truly are our savior! Oh, please tell me you are satisfied with our devotion to you!"

"I'm not," he said, crossing his arms and striding over to her. Her face fell, and he tutted. "How could I approve of such a poorly run brothel in my name?"

"Thank the Maker," murmured Cassandra.

"You're going to need to clean this place up," he said, unable to keep the smirk off his face. "This is no way to run a whorehouse. Fix it up, get this place clean, set a standard rate of commission for the workers; you haven't done that have you? You're letting everyone charge their own rates, right?"

Madame Anais cleared her through. "We thought-"

"I know what you thought," he said. "That's how people get hurt. Get the damn bugs out of the mattresses; get the mold out of the brewery. Stop letting people have sex out in the open! Unless it's a special event, of course. You need to get this place into proper order. I'll be sending Inquisition soldiers to make sure you do just that."

"Inquisition soldiers?" she asked, hand covering her mouth.

Behind Jethann, Cassandra was about to have a stroke.

"Yes," he said. "You did want to help the Herald of Andraste, didn't you?"

"Oh, in any way we can," she said quickly.

"Good," he replied. "Then get your building up to a good standard. I'll send specifics with the soldiers. And you'll be happy to send your profits to me, of course?"

"Our…profits?"

"I'll make sure you get paid, and paid well, don't worry about that," said Jethann. "After all, you're the Madame of such a soon-to-be thriving and reputable establishment."

"That might be an oxymoron," said Varric, laughing.

"You'd be surprised," said Jethann. "Well, Madame Anais, do we have a deal?"

She took a deep breath and nodded, her features bearing a resemblance to an eagle striking its proudest pose. "We do, Herald. Anything to help your cause. Anything for Andraste's Herald."

He reached for her hand and brought it to his lips, leaving a perfect lipstick stain on her hand. Color rose to her cheeks and he smiled. "Until next time."

He heard her whisper "Anything for you," as they turned around and left. He was still smiling when the portcullis shut behind them.


	8. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to a-paragons-memoir for betaing this for me! Can't think of any warnings past the usual language.

“I cannot believe you!”

Jethann was whistling. He liked to whistle; it was fun, calming, and most importantly, helped distract him from Cassandra Pentaghast’s tirade.

“I thought you were- I thought you understood our purpose! I thought you were trying to help our cause! I thought you cared!” Her voice was becoming shriller, and eventually Jethann stopped whistling and interrupted her.

They were still walking, pushing towards a yet unexplored area of the woods.

“I am trying to help your purpose,” he said calmly, bending down to pick an herb. “Believe it or not, sometimes I have a few gears turning behind my head. I might even know what I’m doing.”

“Oh? And what grand plan could you possibly have in that head of yours?” Her voice was done rising now, and she was shouting with full force.

He stopped, fingers curling into balls “Look at me,” he said in a low voice. “And I do mean look at me. See me the way you first did when you dragged me out of that that ruined temple. I am a _whore_ , Cassandra Pentaghast, and I do my best to look like one. I’ll tell you why that is. You are not going to be able to hide who I am from Thedas. Even if we’d managed to quench the rumors I the camp in time, which we didn’t, even if you’d managed to stop the living Chantry sisters from spreading the news, which you didn’t, the news would get out.”

He took a deep breath, trying not to look at her probably furious face before continuing. “I fucked a lot of people in Kirkwall. A lot of nobles. And I fucked them hard enough and often enough that they’ll remember sweet little Jethann, no matter how many Haven heirlooms Josephine offers them. There is no way to keep who I am under wraps, so either we apologize for who I am every second of every day, which I’m not doing, or we embrace it.”

“I don’t want to be the figurehead of a Chantry that hates me…” he said, trying not to let any emotion color his voice. That wouldn’t have been difficult before all of this, but things have changed. “Look, Cassandra, all three of you…if you want me to let you use me as this symbol or whatever it is you want, you have to look Thedas in the eye and accept me. And we can do this by reforming the Chantry with the power we do hold. So I turned that brothel into the Inquisition’s brothel, and we can use it to show acceptance of who I am.”

He paused. “Unless, of course, that isn’t what you want. What the Inquisition wants. Tell me whether you’re willing to go to the lengths that it takes to have me as the Herald of Andraste right now, so I know whether or not I really should leave this whole thing while I still can.”

He stopped talking, shutting his eyes briefly. When he opened them he found that only Varric was looking at him, smile away. He returned it with a brief smirk, unsure where things were going to go.

“Ah,” said Cassandra. “I did not…realize that you did have a plan. You know, you will not be able to pull this off. The Chantry will not so easily lift its condemnation of prostitutes.”

“I know,” said Jethann. “I don’t think any of what’s going on is easy, though. Not for me, at least.”

She sighed and looked around, looking for something to focus on, anything that wasn’t his iron gaze. “I cannot speak for the entire Inquisition,” she said. “But I am willing to go to the lengths it takes.”

“Good,” he said. “That’s what I like to hear.”

He kept walking. He didn’t look back, afraid of the expressions he might see if he did. He would wonder if he still even had three companions following him if he couldn’t hear them walking with heavy footsteps. He didn’t pay attention to his surroundings for such a long period of time that when he looked up and blinked he found that the trees had almost disappeared and that they were standing in the middle of a large meadow, or perhaps several meadows. It was a large expanse of grass, and he had to squint so the sun wasn’t right in his eyes.

“Where were we trying to go exactly?” asked Varric.

Jethann had actually been planning to go back to Haven, or at least pause at a camp, but clearly he’d gotten quite a bit off track in his annoyance. “I’m not entirely sure,” he admitted. “I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

Blackwall snorted. “I’m not entirely sure that’s the best course of action.”

“What, you don’t think wandering aimlessly will suit us well?” he asked, unable to stop the grin. “I don’t know about that; aren’t all great adventurers braver than they are smart?”’

“Most great adventurers are dead,” said Varric. “I’d prefer to be a good adventurer if it meant I was living. I’d even settle for adequate.”

“Well,” said Jethann. “What do you three think we should do as adequate adventurers?”

Even Cassandra was smiling now. “I think we should follow the edge of the trees until we are back where we started. Then this will merely have cost us some time.”

“That sounds like sound advice,” said Jethann.

They all turned to go back to the line of trees that marked the edge of the forest, but they halted as one when they heard the sounds of blades clashing and a loud high-pitched scream.

“Probably the mages and templars fighting,” said Cassandra, wrinkling her nose.

“Or not,” said Jethann, suddenly remember the worried scout they’d run into earlier that day. His weapons were unsheathed long before he made it to the site of the fighting. He was instantly glad he’d decided to intervene; a lone scout was fighting several templars on her own, clearly struggling as she was pushed back farther and farther.

The air next to Jethann’s air rushed past his cheek, and a templar before he could even figure out it had been a bolt lovingly dealt from Bianca. He kicked the templar the rest of the way down and ducked to avoid the blade of a second templar, realizing belatedly that he had run ahead of the others. He was the only one, other than Varric from a distance, fighting these templars.

He met a huge broadsword with his daggers, eyes screwing shut as pain lanced up his arms from the effort of keeping it from slashing down and cutting him wide open. He jumped backwards and danced to the templar’s side, waiting until the man raised his blade again to slip his dagger into the opening in his armor where his arm needed to bend. The man howled when the dagger’s sharp end sunk deep into his armpit and sunk to the ground, alive but distracted enough for Jethann to fend off the others until Cassandra and Blackwall made their ways over, making short work of the templars.

When the templars were dead, Jethann pulled his dagger out of the man’s underarm, wincing at the hideous squelching noise it made. He wiped it on the long grass and looked up at the scout, clearly shocked and relieved at their appearance.

“Thank you. If not for you, I’d be dead.”

“That’s what I do,” he said, standing. His attention was drawn to a blanket laid out on the ground with a corpse laying on it, not a templar and almost peaceful in death if not for the blood spattering the cream blanket she had been sitting on. She had been a mage, he realized, and she had had a long face and had liked her hair cropped short and she had collected bird feathers to string on necklaces. He dragged his fingers over the beads and feathers covering her too-pale collarbones.

 He looked over at the scout and didn’t need to wonder at the matching necklace she wore.

“Do you need anything? I should probably report back.”

“What was her name?” he asked.

“Eldredda,” answered Ritts instantly. She paused then eyes flitting from the corpse to him and back. “I think that was her name. That’s what I heard the other apostates call her.”

“She was lovely,” he said quietly. “You’re going to miss her, aren’t you?”

Ritt’s expression crumbled and Jethann took a step towards her, hand gripping her shoulder. “It’s okay. I understand.”

She bit her lip. “At first she was another apostate who didn’t attack, but she- she became more than that. Maker, I’m going to miss her.”

“I know,” he said. “When you return to your post, tell your head that the Herald of Andraste orders that you take a few days off to recover. When you come back, go back to Haven and tell our Spymaster that I sent you, and tell her this story. She’ll know you’re valuable.”

“Valuable?”

“Not many women could fall in love in the middle of a war,” he said. “Not the way you did; that takes a sweet tongue. Leliana will know the value of that.”

“Okay,” she said. “I’m not sure he’ll believe me, but I’ll try.”

They ended up traveling back with the scout to make sure her boss understood the orders Jethann was relaying. They got directions from the (slightly amused) scouts back to the path that would take them to one of their camps and headed that direction.

“You did a good thing back there,” said Varric the moment they were out of earshot of the scouts.

“It would have been better if Eldredda were alive, I think,” he said. “But I did what I could.”

“I don’t think you give yourself enough credit.”

Blackwall and Cassandra were quiet; Jethann hoped he hadn’t ruined the tentative friendship he’d been developing with the latter. What he had said earlier that day was important. No, not important. Necessary. If Cassandra Pentaghast could grow to know him as well as she wanted and not accept him, then how could Thedas? He’d need to say what he had. Besides, what did he care what she thought?

* * *

 

He’d planned to go back to Haven, and here he was, standing at the doors of Redcliffe. He was beginning to wonder if he was losing all sense of direction. Maybe it was a side effect of the mark. Maybe it was just that his head was up in the clouds more often than not these days.

Either way, his mark was glowing and his daggers were out. After all, why not fight two rifts in one day? The Grand Enchanter had invited them to Redcliffe after all, and now was as good a time as any to make their first appearance.

There was something off about this rift. Jethann could tell; so could the other three. None of them were especially experienced with magic but all of them could feel it in the air, changing something even if they couldn’t tell exactly what it was.

The doors to the village were thrown open at last as the last wisps of green energy faded from the air, and Jethann entered with a small sigh of relief. Hopefully there weren’t any more rifts hiding in the village, but he never knew. Considering how the day was going there were probably four.

A scout was there to greet them. “We’ve spread word the Inquisition was coming, but you should know that no one here was expecting us.”

That was surprising. “No one?” he asked. “Not even the lovely Grand Enchanter? I do hate crashing parties I’m not invited to.”

“If she was expecting you, she told no one,” said the scout. “We’ve arranged use of the tavern for negotiations.”

“Classy,” he snorted. “That’ll work, though.”

Jethann didn’t even have time to thank the young man before a mage in unfamiliar robes was running up to them. His face was a bit too plain, his hair too mousy, for Jethann, but he certainly wouldn’t turn his patronage down. Maybe he’d be able to convince him to wear something other than that ridiculous leather corset. He hadn’t seen fashion so tragic since their stop in Val Royeaux.

“Agents of the Inquisition, my apologies! Magister Alexius is in charge now, but he hasn’t yet arrived. He’s expected shortly. You can speak with the former Grand Enchanter in the meantime.”

“Magister?” asked Jethann, the word unfamiliar on his tongue. He could remember Magisters, now that he thought about it, although many of the clients at the Rose began to blend together after a time. Magister...he shuddered, remembering the tastes of one particular man who’d come through. He had left after one disastrous session with Jethann and a shouting match with Lusine. He’d treated the workers like property. Jethann did not relish the memory.

They followed the man with bad dress sense to the tavern. He smiled a little at the stench of booze and an underlying whiff of vomit, tinged, unbelievably so, with a more pleasant aroma of something containing spices.

The lighting was dim, but not so much that Jethann didn’t immediately recognize the woman he had met in Val Royeaux, Grand Enchanter Fiona.

“Welcome, Agents of the Inquisition. What has brought you to Redcliffe?”

Jethann, Varric, and Cassandra exchanged glances. The puffy bear man in the back was out of the loop for this; Jethann should have thought to bring him up to speed before they’d entered the village. Ah, well, he’d cotton on fast enough.

“That’s a joke, right?” he asked. “I’m supposed to laugh so hard I think I’m one of the regular patrons of this place, and then you’ll tell me you’re just being silly and that you remember my handsome face from Val Royeaux.”

“Val Royeaux? I mean no insult to your face, which I will say is rather pleasing in present company, but I have never seen you before. I haven’t been to Val Royeaux since before the Conclave.”

Her expression was open, head tilted slightly as she considered his words, eyes focused up and to the right of where they were, trying to remember if she did indeed know who he was. She was not lying; Jethann would bet coin on it.

“That’s funny,” he said. “Three of the people standing in front of you saw someone exactly like you in Val Royeaux. We talked to you. You invited us here. Trust me, I wouldn’t forget a face like yours.”

“Exactly like me?” she asked. “I suppose it could be magic at work, but why would anyone…” She trailed off. Jethann was thinking about something else entirely anyway, something along the lines of what two identical women with dark hair, pale skin, and light green eyes could accomplish between the sheets. He refocused his attention as she continued.

“Whoever…or whatever brought you here, the situation has changed. The free mages have already…pledged themselves to the service of the Tevinter Imperium. As one indentured to a Magister, I no longer have the authority to negotiate with you.”

“From what I know of Magisters,” he said, memories he’d rather keep pressed down flashing in his mind. “I think that is a terrible idea.”

“All hope of peace died with Justinia. This…bargain with Tevinter would not have been my first choice, but we had no choice. We are losing this war. I had to save as many of my people as I could.”

There were a million things Jethann wanted to say to this small elven woman for whom incredible power wielded at her fingertips wasn’t enough to save her people. He didn’t have time to voice a single one before the door to the building swung open and two men with the absolute worst fashion Jethann had possibly ever seen (he said possibly only because he remembers the time Serendipity decided to nick Faith’s clothes and the hilarity that resulted).

“Welcome my friends! I apologize for not meeting you earlier.”

The red and gold clothing worn by the man speaking was outfitted with jutting spikes that each sent a jolt straight into Jethann’s heart. Really, spikes? What, were they stuck in the Steel Age? His focus on the clothing was distracted by the look the man was giving him as his gaze slid from his stature to his face to the ears that distinguished him as lesser to so many. His expression was one of disgust, so pure and concentrated Jethann felt like something cold was trickling down his back. The man put up a featureless mask only a second or so later, but it was too late. Jethann had seen what he thought of the Herald of Andraste.

“Agents of the Inquisition, allow me to introduce Magister Gereon Alexius,” said Fiona, practically reduced to nothing but a herald.

“The southern mages are under my command. And you are the survivor, yes? The one from the Fade? Interesting.”

The way he said the word interesting made Jethann want to snap and tell him to take his stupid hat off so he could see his bald head. Instead he smiled, slow and sweet.

“I’m here on Inquisition business,” he said, wondering for the millionth time how he’d become the person to say all these things. Well, now that he was in the middle of a sentence he couldn’t exactly just tell Cassandra to take over. Maybe he needed to remember that that was an option more often. Or maybe, he realized, considering her brusqueness, she didn’t offer to speak for a reason. “We need mages to close the Breach.”

“For a moment I thought you had come to please my mages,” he said, looking around the room with a casual smile. The face of the younger man standing behind him went slack, his expression appalled. At least Jethann knew there was one decent man among these Tevinters.

“They couldn’t afford me,” he said. “Trust me on that.”

“I think you might be surprised,” he said, a grin sliding across his face. “Good whores are hard to find.”

Jethann gestured towards a nearby table. “Sit. You might need to when you realize I’ve got a brain behind all this makeup. I’ve heard that men like yourself can’t comprehend simple fact.”

He could almost feel the way the air thickened, like a magical current is being transmitted from all the people who thought he’d let this Magister say what he wanted for the sake of politeness. Anyone who thought that clearly didn’t know him very well.

“Down to business, then?” said Alexius finally, expression pleasant but eyes narrowed.

Jethann smiled and raised a hand to summon a waitress, purchasing them both a mug of strong Ferelden brew. He blew the woman a kiss as she walked away, not waiting to hear her nervous giggle before locking eyes with Alexius.

“Felix, would you fetch for a scribe, please? Pardon my manners. My son Felix, friends.”

Jethann was barely able to bite down that he wasn’t Alexius’s friend; he turned his head and looked at Felix through his eyelashes, changing his smile ever so slightly. A light flush rose to the man’s cheeks, and Jethann decided his yellow outfit wasn’t quite as hideous as his father’s.

Felix went to fetch the scribe Jethann returned to meeting the other man’s gaze, setting his chin on his slender hands, deciding he didn’t mind the breach of etiquette that having his elbows on the table was.

“I am not surprised the Inquisition is here. Containing the Breach is not a fear that many could even attempt. There is no telling how many mages would be needed for such an endeavor. Ambitious, indeed.”

“I’m known for biting off more than I can chew,” he said. “But this time it isn’t by choice. We need to close the Breach. It affects everyone, no matter which throne they bend the knee to. Don’t you agree?”

“I do, but we cannot just give you unconditional support. We will need to-”

The man in yellow was back. Felix was stumbling as though a man lost (or very drunk, he thought, but that would not be polite to say), his eyes unfocused. His father stood up, smug expression contorting into something else entirely. Jethann followed suit, but he hardly made it to a standing position before Felix collapsed into him, making his knees buckle and bringing them both to the floor. Jethann was not a sturdy man even when he wasn’t off-guard. He grunted in surprise and didn’t let his expression change as a slip of paper was handed to him by the quiet man in yellow.

“Felix!” cried Alexius.

“My lord, I’m so sorry! Please forgive my clumsiness.”

“You don’t have to call me that,” were Jethann’s first words, an instinct ingrained in him from his first dirty days in the Alienage.

“No, you don’t,” added Alexius, and Jethann cursed himself inside for creating that opportunity. “Felix, are you all right?” Jethann wouldn’t swear on it, but the Tevinter Magister almost sounded like a concerned father right then.

“Come, I’ll get your powders. Please excuse me, friends. We will have to continue this another time. Fiona, I require your assistance at the castle.”

Jethann frowned. He’d wanted to ask her about a few things, prove to her that he wasn’t…well, what everyone thought he was. Except he was, and he didn’t need to prove himself to anyone. Wasn’t that what he’d been fighting for? Being allowed to be himself? It was…difficult not to want all these fancy diplomats and rich foreigners to look at him like they did everyone else. He was sick of the staring and the whispers, even if he could never voice that. He’d lose all credibility if he did and they’d have him strung up as their puppet in days.

“I don’t mean to trouble everyone,” said Felix softly as he followed his father and the Grand Enchanter out of the tavern.

Alexius stopped right before he left. “I shall send word to the Inquisition. We shall conclude this business at a later date, and perhaps a bit more quickly if they let another representative speak.”

He wasn’t surprised, but the pit in his stomach was showing no signs of disappearing. They saw him as lesser. They always would. If he’d been born in Tevinter he wouldn’t have been given the choice to sell his body; selling people was their game.

He opened his hand and looked at the paper he’d been handed by Felix. The words swam together, but he was able to pick Chantry out. Cassandra had been quick to each him the word for that. Ch-an-try. The try was pronounced like tri, because y and i made the same sound sometimes.

“What does this say?” he asked Cassandra, because as lovely as the practice was the information on the paper was more important.

“Come to the Chantry,” she read, thick accent flowing over Jethann’s ears. “You are in danger.”

“Aren’t I always now?” he said, sipping from the mug that the waitress had only now brought. “Is this a different kind? A more dangerous danger? A danger the other danger can only dream of?”

Varric snorted. “I would say you’ve already most of the danger the world can offer when you stepped out of the Fade.”

“Seen, but not remembered,” said Jethann. “I guess we’ll go to the Chantry then, huh?”

“If that is what you would like,” said Cassandra. “I am not so sure about this Alexius; I would not put assassination past him.”

Jethann drained his mug of beer and readied himself to leave the tavern. Cassandra shot him an alarmed look, which he found rather amusing. The Blooming Rose had, like most brothels, served alcohol. Of course, she probably had very little experience with any such establishments in the first place.

“Off we go,” he said. They stopped for a bit longer than he meant to, however, chatting with the local mages. Many of them seemed rather disenchanted with freedom, which goes to show the truety of all those old adages about caged birds.

They passed a house on the way, a little ramshackle building with a sign outside advertising a healer. Jethann stopped in his tracks, remembering what Corporal Vale had said about needing someone to attend to the sick and dying, the unfortunate side effects of a civil war.

He turned away from the path, a small and quiet smile on his face as he admired the healer’s plants, some potted and some arranged into rows in a small but neat garden. Before this, if he had been asked to describe Redcliffe, he might have used ‘brown.’ This was different. When he took a breath he could smell the aroma of fresh life so strongly that he could almost feel it.

An elven woman answered the door. She narrowed her eyes in suspicion, not at Jethann, but his three human companions. Someone else might have asked if they could all come in, but Jethann looked back and asked if they could give him a moment.

Cassandra protested, eyebrows flying up. “You were just informed you were in danger and this is your reaction? Please do not endanger your own life!”

“I don’t think she’s hiding any assassins,” he said. “I could be wrong, but I’m going to take the chance.”

“Oh, thank you,” said the elven woman with a tilt of her brow. “I’m so _honored._ ” Jethann couldn’t help but enjoy the sarcasm.

When he was inside the hut he looked around, wondering what all the vials were filled with, wondering at all the different ways people had discovered how and how not to help people with the wounds inflicted by the world. A skill he could not even imagine having, and therefore he respected those who did.

When he opened his mouth he meant to bring up the business he had come for, but instead a question about flowers came out. He wasn’t sure about one of the varieties of daffodils she had; it was too late in the season for the normal kind, and he was pleased to hear that she had developed her own strain that lived longer than most.

“Is that why you’re here?” she asked after several minutes of lively discussion. “Your interest in my flowers?”

“I wish,” he said, laughing freely. “If only I could concentrate my time on them. I’ve always loved them, even when I was living in the city. I saw so many during my travels in Ferelden and the Free Marches. Always wanted to know more.”

“You’ve come to the right place for that,” she said. “But why are you really here?

“You know, the refugees at the Crossroads could use some help,” he said, his smile turning into the one he used when he was pretending to be the agent the Inquisition wanted.

She sighed. “You’re the one they’re calling the Herald of Andraste?”

“That’s me,” he said. “The one and only, as far as I know.”

“The Crossroads…so many people dying for want of simple herbs,” she said. Their eyes both shot the rows and rows of capped vials on the walls. Jethann’s eyes slid to the thick leaved plants sitting on her windowsill. The entire hut smelled of the plants that could relieve so many peoples’ desperation.

“You should help,” he said. “There are a lot of people who need someone like you.”

 “The journey is dangerous,” she said. “I’d be sticking my head ini the middle of a civil war. I doubt those refugees would risk their lives for a “knife-ear.”

“Maybe not,” he said honestly, meeting her gaze. He’d been doing that a lot today. “There will always be people out there out to get us. Trust me on that.” His fingers ghosted his throat, the redness from the chocking long gone but the memory still there.

“Then why should I go?”

“Some of them aren’t shitheads,” he said. “Some of them don’t even know that yet, but it’s true. If I can go out there and risk my life for these people who hate me in hopes that…well, some of them will hate me less eventually, than I hope you can do the same thing.”

He shrugged. “I get it if you don’t want to. Honestly. Humans don’t deserve shit from either of us.”

“Why do you do it?”

“I don’t want to Breach to consume the world,” he said. “No matter how shitty it is for me, it’s still the world. I live here. Simple as that.”

“I’ll go,” said the healer, her chest rising as she took a deep breath. “I’ll help them. They need it, and that’s what a healer does.”

“I wish I could make it easier for you,” he said. “But I’m not going to lie. Just know that I think you’re a better person than most of those you’re off to treat.”

She smiled. “If you’re ever in the area, you can come talk to me any time you want. I know quite a bit about flowers.”

He grinned, waving as he turned to rejoin his companions. “I’ll take you up on that offer next time I’m in the area.”

Cassandra, Blackwall, and Varric were milling about the healer’s garden when he returned to him. “Can you send Corporal Vale a message saying he should have some help with the wounded on his way? And yes, she’s supposed to be an elf.”

“You want that bit in the message?” she asked, snorting.

“Yes,” he said. “It’s essential.”

The path they used to get to the Chantry was half worn and packed soil and half grass, the flowers from the sides creeping onto the walking ground. Jethann was willing to admit that calling Redcliffe brown was a bit unfair; there was beauty here when you looked past the Ferelden muck and low wooden buildings.

They followed the path up a hill, Jethann sighing slightly in what might have been happiness as the cool shade from many overarching trees hit him. Beauty and comfort for the last few seconds before he swung this door open, at least. Hopefully it wasn’t just one big trap.

Fade demons. That was the first thing he saw. Second was the man bashing their heads in with a staff, swinging it like it was made to bludgeon demons with and not to cast magic with. Jethann crossed his arms and sat back on his heels until the man finished off the second demon and looked at him.

The man was quite handsome. Polished hair, dark skin, and a mustache expertly curled all above an ensemble that wasn’t as hideous as the rest of the Tevinter styles he had seen today. Oh, and it was definitely Tevinter; Jethann had already gotten a sense of the style prevailing among them from Alexius and his retainer. The heavy draping fabric couldn’t be anything but. Jethann did have to wonder at the boob window, though.

“Good! You’re finally here! Now help me close this, would you?”

“Why is it that everyone always needs me to fix their problems?” said Jethann, as though problems in this case didn’t mean fade right, and he wasn’t already getting out his daggers as his mark glowed.

This was his third fade rift that day, and he was starting to slow down a bit. He was trying not to let it show, not when the others showed no sign of slowing down, but Cassandra had to cut a demon he hadn’t noticed down for him. He ignored the flush that threatened to creep up his neck in favor of sinking his daggers extra deep into one of the unholy spawns of the Fade.

Something was off here, the same way it had been off at the rift outside Redcliffe. Jethann wasn’t sure how to describe it, but areas around him seemed to be…flowing differently, in a way. Like there were small pockets of wrongness.

He looked up and realized the rift needed to be closed and raised his left hand in order to do it, letting the pull of the shimmering green crack in the world take him for a few moments, closing his eyes. When he opened them the rift was gone.

“Fascinating. How does that work exactly?” said the man with the nice mustache.

Jethann shook his hand, trying to free it of the tingling feeling. “Do I look like I know?”

He laughed, lifting his arms in a half shrug. “You don’t even know! You just wiggle your fingers and boom! Rift closes.”

“I can think of far more interesting ways to wiggle my fingers,” he replied.

The man’s eyebrows lifted. “Oh? Don’t you think we should at least know each other’s names before you risk my delicate constitution?”

“By all means,” said Jethann. “Introduce yourself.”

“Dorian of House Pavus, most recently of Minrathous,” he said, bowing his head. “How do you do?”

“I could be better,” said Jethann. “It’s been quite the long day. I assume you know my name?”

“Yes,” said Dorian. “The Herald, or the Whore, if you don’t mind me saying. Unless you mean something to call you past that.”

Jethann snorted. “That does not surprise me. My name is Jethann, and I’d prefer you use that rather than a title. Any title. So, why am I standing here in a Chantry with Dorian of House Pavus?”

The only light in the building came from flickering candles. Night was beginning to fall outside. The shadows were long, but Jethann liked the quiet they brought.

“I’m Alexius’s former apprentice, and I came to warn you. As for the locale, I find this rustic building rather charming. Oh, how I do love to sit and look out at the charming stained glass depictions of Andraste.”

“You cannot be serious,” said Cassandra with a note of disgust in her tone.

“You’re right,” said Dorian. “You may want to try cracking a joke sometime, oh dour one.”

She opened her mouth in protest and quickly shut it again. Jethann had a good enough poker face to contain his snicker.

“So you sent the note,” said Jethann. “Care to tell us what kind of danger I’m in? Because I’m pretty sure there are lots of people after my lovely skin.”

“How about starting with the way Alexius claiming the allegiance of the rebel mages out from under you,” said Dorian. “As if by magic, yes? Which is exactly right. To reach Redcliffe before the Inquisition, Alexius distorted time itself.”

Jethann wasn’t able to suppress the shudder that ran through him. “Can magic really do that?”

“Yes,” said Dorian. “But it only matters when a deluded Magister has the means to rip a hole in time and space. You must have noticed the way the rift you just closed was distorting time? How in some places it made events speed up and some it made them slow down. All Alexius’s fault. It’ll be his fault too when he ends up doing that to the rest of Ferelden as well. And then the world.”

“That sounds dangerous,” said Jethann, carefully neutral even as his blood ran cold. This kind of fucking with the world was why so many people disliked mages. He understood why the templars hated them so much.

He regretted that thought as soon as he had it. He’d serviced many templars at the Rose, and had been privy to their desires, after all. Most templars didn’t give a shit about the danger mages posed, not really, not in the long run. They liked to keep them caged for their own purposes.

They weren’t even focusing on the right mages; Jethann wondered why no one seemed to care what the slave-owning Magisters of Tevinter were up to. Jethann was finding that he cared. It was fucked up, and he preferred the world he lived to be, well, not unraveled. He’d like it to stay raveled, thank you.

“It is,” said Dorian. “I should know. I helped develop it.”

“So why is he doing it?” said Jethann. “Is he one of those lovely men who just want to break the world or something? I think I heard a proverb on that once or twice.”

Cassandra opened her mouth and then seemed to think better of it. Jethann sometimes wanted to grab her, push her forward, and go ‘Here! Talk to her!’ Sadly, the world had decided it was the elf they were going to talk to. Talk to and likely deride the moment his back was turned.

“I don’t know,” said Dorian. “I don’t get why he’s doing it either. Why rip the world to shreds for a few hundred lackeys?”

“He didn’t do it for them.” A new voice. Felix, looking very dour. Jethann wanted to take every serious man and women he’d met in his journeys aside and give them a massage or maybe a little something extra. They all looked so angry.

“Oh? So why did they do it?”

“My father has joined a cult. Tevinter supremacists. They call themselves ‘Venatori.’ And I can promise you, whatever they’ve done, they’ve done to get to you.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” said Jethann. “Have you seen me? I’d be obsessed with me too.”

Dorian, Blackwall, and Varric all let out variations of amused snickers. Jethann smirked.

“It’s far more than a joke,” said Felix. “There’s more to it.”

“Can we explain this sitting down?” he asked. “My feet hurt and I’ve closed three rifts today. Now, I know that might not sound like a lot, but seeing as I’m the only one who can close them, I get to decide when I’ve had enough.”

“And?” said Varric.

“I’ve had enough.”

Jethann directed the two Tevinters to a bench at the side of the Chantry, sitting between the two. It was a rather tight fit for all three of them, so they were in fairly close proximity together, their legs pressed against each other’s like peas in a pod. Dorian and Felix exchanged looks, and Jethann had fun trying to identify them. Concern? Confusion? Fear? Amusement? Any of them were possible, and Jethann liked every option. He had to resist the urge to drape his arms around their shoulders.

“Now that we’re comfortable,” he said. “Let’s talk.”

That got a laugh out of them, at least. Jethann lived to please; or he liked to make people think he did.

 


	9. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay! I think I'm probably going to take longer for updates, which I'm sure will disappoint the three of you who read this. I've got a lot going in; I'm a creative writing major in college, and it's difficult to balance the writing I do for school with the writing I want to do for fic. Anyway, thanks for reading.

Why he’d thought it was a good idea to come to this Maker forsaken place was beyond him. He had several variations of this thought before he begrudgingly admitted to himself that they were there for what was actually a very good reason; the kidnapping of Inquisition agents.

Still, he didn’t see why they had to get themselves kidnapped in the worst place in the entire world. He couldn’t believe he’d actually made the decision to stop here on the way back to Haven to deal with the mage situation in Redcliffe.

He was soaking wet, his face unadorned by makeup as he struggled to ground his tent in the squelching mud. According to the scouts this was the most solid bit of land for a good ways, but he was having trouble believing that. Normally he managed well enough, but in the pouring rain? He was starting to hate the Fallow Mire and he hadn’t even caught glimpse of the undead Scout Harding had warned him of.

“Looks like someone’s about to end up with a tent pole up their arse!”

“Hello, Sera,” he said without looking up. “What brings you to my humble home?”

“You call that a home?” she replied, bursting into a peal of giggles. “I call it a mess.”

“I was joking,” he said. “You know, the thing you always do? Ha ha, hilarious.”

The words came out more biting than he intended, and he winced the moment they they did. He stopped his sad attempt at building a tent and looked over at her. Her eyebrows were raised. “Wow,” she said. “You’re really pissed off at this shit, huh?”

“It’s pouring,” he said, running a muddy hand through his hair before he realized. He winced, staring at his hand. “And I’m wet and muddy and it’s cold out here. There’s no moon and it’s dark. I just want…” A warm familiar bed and the presence of the Kirkwall faces he knew, that’s what he really wanted. But Jethann was old enough to know that he’d better move on, because the world wasn’t going to let him do anything else.

Sera pushed him aside and began to pull the pole he’d been struggling with into its proper position.

“Where did you learn how to do this?” he said, watching her with his arms crossed over his chest, not out of insolence but the cold. “I thought you were raised in a city too.”

“I never said I was the best at it,” she replied, and he could see her eyes rolling from here. “Just that I can do it. I learned shit when I traveled. It wasn’t an easy journey, that first time from Denerim to Orlais.”

“I can imagine,” said Jethann, who had seen a hard road after he’d left Kirkwall. He’d always looked for a barn or a seedy inn to rest in by the end of the day, though. “You’re quite resourceful, you know.”

“That’s a way of putting it!” she said, laughing high and clear. “I don’t mind it when you say it. You don’t mean it in the fancy way that any of those Haven nobles would.”

“Good,” he said. “I definitely don’t. They’re second rate nobles anyway.”

“Oh?” said Sera, turning her head and resting her chin on her hands, balancing all of this on the upright tent pole. “What makes them shittier than all the other puffed up gits?”

“Well, they’re in Ferelden, to start off with,” said Jethann. Sera glared a tiny bit at that, and he remembered that she was from Denerim. He continued, hoping she’d see his point. “Most the nobles we’re seeing in Haven are disgraced Orlesians and pretenders from Antivan and Rivain trying to pass off as higher rank than they are. Kirkwall nobles were the same; no one with money ends up in the City of Chains out of choice. So they’re trying to make themselves look bigger than they are, which explains all the puffing up.”

“It’s all some stupid game they think matters when really every last one of them has more money than they need,” he added. It felt nice to say that. When he greeted all those second-rate nobles at the Rose he’d have to smile and nod and pretend like the clothing they wanted him to tear off them wasn’t worth a year’s salary.

“I like it when you talk like that,” she said. “You should let yourself get pissed more. Not the drinking kind of pissed, the angry kind. The kind that makes you all ‘grrr.’”

“I don’t like getting all ‘grrr,’” he replied, shrugging. The rain was coming down just as hard, and he wiped his hair out of eyes so he could see her as they talked. The constant dripping on the back of his neck was less noticeable, somehow.

“Why not? Varric was saying you got a bit…” Sera stopped here to stomp around with her arms all hulked out. The pole stayed upright, deep in the mud. Jethann was beginning to think she had forgotten what she was supposed to be doing. Oh well. “…the other day at Cassandra. Said she didn’t like it when you told all those whores to keep spreading their legs. I told her she’s mad for thinking you’d do anything else, or I tried to. It’s hard when you looks at you, like, you know, with those big scary eyes. How much shit does she put on her eyes?”

“A lot of shit,” he replied. “Enough to make up for the lack of it on the rest of her face. But yes, I did lose my temper. A bit. I don’t like getting angry.”

“Why?” Sera asked. “It’s good for you!”

“Since when is getting mad good for anyone?” said Jethann. “It’s certainly done Thedas no favors.”

Sera picked the pole back up and shoved it into the tent with a sense of certainty Jethann only possessed when his fingers were an a couple inches deep in someone’s naughty bits. When she let go, the tent stayed up. She shook it a bit to make sure it was sturdy, and then tied the flap shut.

“I was planning to go in there,” he said. “You know, warm, dry…I don’t need a third reason. Dry says it all.”

“The know-it-all said he was going to start a fire,” said Sera. “So come, let’s see if he’s full of shit. Did you know you can light shit on fire?”

“Who’s the know-it-all now?” he said now.

“Did you know that?”

“My dear Sera,” he said, following her to the bonfire that was just starting up. “I promise you that I have been lighting shit on fire for longer than you.”

“Oh? How old are you then?” she said as she backed away from him while still facing his direction, laughing one last time before running off to the fire, which was clearly flickering into existence now.

Jethann followed her, arriving only a few seconds later. Solas had started the fire just out from under an outcropping, which everyone had dragged tree stumps or logs to sit on under.

“I saved you one,” said Varric. Jethann shot him a smile and sat next to him.

The flames crackled with an extra snap than Jethann was used to. He wondered if all magic fires were like that. This one did seem to have a little something extra about it- the flames were a little redder, the air cracked with more intensity, the heat seared your skin no matter your proximity to it. Solas saw where his gaze was and lifted his lips into a small smile. Jethann returned it, if only because it was nice to be warm when the sky was so determined to empty itself on them.

They were all there, the group he’d accidentally managed to pull together, people who’d decided to fight at his side for one reason or another. The dreaming apostate, the qunari mercenary, the Chantry Seeker, the First Enchanter, the wild archer, the Grey Warden, and the dwarven friend from home. Quite a group, and they’d all gathered for…for what? For him?

Jethann could still see the sickly glow of the Breach through the clouds and the sheets of rain. No, not for him.

The Iron Bull offered him something in a flask. “It’ll keep the chill away,” he said.

Jethann leaned in and took one sniff of it before declining. “I’d like to keep my liver intact,” he said. “There are funner ways to get drunk.”

“I’ll get you to try this one of these days!” said Bull, winking from several seats over.

“Who knows,” said Jethann, winking back.  “Maybe you will.”

Varric was on his one side, but it was Blackwall who was on the other. The others were starting conversations of their own, but Blackwall was watching Jethann curiously instead.

“What is it? I’m not free tonight, if that’s what you’re thinking,” said Jethann, precisely because he knew it was not what the poor man had been preoccupied with.

Predictably, the man turned red. “No, I’m not like that! I wasn’t- I was only thinking of the Inquisition, I would never-”

“Hire a whore, or hire this whore?” he asked.

“Neither!” said Blackwall, his face a lovely color template, demonstrating a shade of puce combined with the dark wires on his face. Jethann wasn’t usually into beards, but this one was nice. Weirdly shaped, but nice.

“The Chantry doesn’t approve of that kind of behavior. Not that I’m huge on the organized part of the religion, but I do believe in Andraste’s words,” Blackwall added, his complexion finally starting to calm down.

“I’ve met many men like you,” said Jethann, musing. “Interesting. We had a lot of Chantry clergy at the brothel I used to work for. Ladies who’d do everything but, if you catch my drift.”

“Is that common?”

“Definitely,” said Jethann. “At least it was in Kirkwall. I can’t imagine they’re much different anywhere else. People are people.”

“That they are,” said Blackwall. “No matter whose border you’re in.”

The man drank from his mug, which contained a much less disgusting looking brew than the one Iron Bull had offered. Blackwall stared into the fire for a split second before blinking and turning back to Jethann. “So, I bet you saw a lot of wild things in that brothel?”

“Are you asking me to tell you a story?” said Jethann, laughing. “You blushed when I asked you if you wanted to hire a prostitute, do you really think you have the constitution needed for handling one of my stories?”

Blackwall chuckled. “As long as it doesn’t involve me, I think I do.”

Jethann cracked his knuckles. “You asked for it. I’m going to break out a good one just for you. So let’s set the picture, right? The best brothel in Kirkwall, it’s got all the gaudy wallpaper in the whole city, all stored in that lovely place. Smells like roses, too, which is why it’s called what it is.”

“And that is?” asked Blackwall.

“The Blooming Rose,” said Jethann. “The sign had some art on it that was supposed to look both like a flower and a vulva. Very charming.”

“That’s a way to put it,” said Vivienne, who was sitting on Blackwall’s other side. Her legs were crossed and turned away from Blackwall’s own. The big man didn’t seem to notice, but Jethann did.

“Enough people thought it charming enough to want to see it often,” he replied. “Sometimes more than once a day. Including, by the way, templars.”

“Templars?” asked Vivienne, raising an eyebrow. It was still perfectly crafted in this rain. Jethann was a bit jealous as he thought of his dripping hair.

“All the time,” he said. “There were a few that came more than others…Thrask, Emeric...” He’d liked both of those men and they’d both met bad ends. That must be what came of being a better templar than others.

“That surprises me, as strict as Knight-Commander Meredith was known to be,” Vivienne replied.

“She was mostly interested in beating mages to death and pretending she was allowed to be Viscount,” said Jethann. “But she did care about this kind of behavior too. Part of the story, actually. Let me get to that.”

“A good description of Meredith,” said Varric. “And tsk on you, First Enchanter. Never interrupt a storyteller.”

“Then what are you doing right now?” she replied, tilting her head with a small smiled.

“Aw, you got me,” said Varric, scratching his cheek sheepishly. “One point to Vivienne.”

“No one’s going to be getting _any_ points if you don’t let me finish my story,” said Jethann, crossing his arms. “You come and ask me to talk and then don’t let me do it! The manners of you people.”

Blackwall bowed his head, hiding his grin. “Forgive me, serah. Please continue.”

“Will do,” he said. “So I was enjoying the company of a lovely young templar woman, as I do, and g-”

“What kind of enjoying was it?” said Sera loudly, poking her head around Cassandra to look over. “Was it the kind of enjoy where you do it up the butt, or the normal boring kind, or was she being nice and putting her mouth around fleshy elf cock, or maybe she likes strapping one on an-”

“Sera!” said Cassandra, voice high and shrill. “That is not appropriate!”

“Why not? We’ve all done the do, haven’t we? Put our sticky bits into other sticky bits. So what’s the big deal?”

“Yes, Cassandra,” he added, unable to help himself. “What _is_ the big deal, exactly?”

She sputtered in reply, mouth opening and closing. “It’s just not proper!”

“To answer your question, Sera,” he said. “It was the normal boring kind. She was mostly just lonely, didn’t want anything special beyond the fact that she was with me.”

Sera stuck out her tongue. “Why’re you telling us about the bits no one cares about? Get to the juicy part!”

“I’m trying! You’re a bunch of animals! None of you can keep still for more than thirty seconds, it’s like babysitting a bunch of children.”

“I hope you are not including me in that,” said Vivienne in a dangerous tone.

“If you’re still talking, then I definitely am,” he said, arms crossed. Vivienne’s eyebrows shot up and she shot him what might have been a smile. Interesting.

“So,” he finally continued, laying his hands on his legs and staring at them all, daring them to interrupt. “She and I were engaged in coitus when we heard footsteps coming down the hall. And trust me, you could tell these footsteps meant business. You wouldn’t have wanted to get in their way and you knew that just by hearing them. And, to top it all off, as I was kissing her neck we heard someone yell “Knight-Commander!”

“You’ve gotta be shitting me!” said Varric, clapping his hand on his leg hard. “Knight-Commander Meredith in The Blooming Rose? How did I never hear about this?”

“Shhh,” said Vivienne, putting her finger to her lips. “We’re listening, darling.”

And they were, their faces all reflecting the shadows on the fire as they turned to him. Inspiring, or some shit. Maybe he was a great storyteller. Then again, Jethann knew it was a great story. It would be a hard one to mess up.

“So, knowing the dreaded Knight-Commander Meredith approaches, my lovely companion decides to take action. What does she do? If I were in the mood I could make you all sit here and guess, but I think it’s way too rainy for that, so I’ll just tell you.” He smirked and paused, watching them all lean towards him ever so slightly, every last one of them, from Vivienne to Sera. Cassandra especially seemed shocked by the turn of events, her pretty eyes wide with emotion. “She jumped out the window, naked as the day she was born. Got away too, as far as I know.”

Sera whistled. “Shit! I was thinking she was gonna tell her you seduced her, but this is way better!

If Sera was the one most amused, the Iron Bull came in a close second, his laugh so loud it probably disturbed nearby birds. “That’s a damn good story!”

Jethann wagged his finger. “Oh, I’m not done yet. The templar gone, Meredith bursts in to find good old Jethann, all alone and standing at attention.”

He used to tell this story with an inclusion of how attractive he’d found her, but that didn’t sit right with him anymore. He definitely didn’t want anyone to think his standards were so low he’d touch Knight-Commander Meredith after what she’d done.

He finished his story with a flourish. “There I was, perfectly primed to help her complete her righteous duty, and she looked at me and said, in a voice quieter than all the mice she’s ever killed combined, ‘excuse me.’ And she left, slamming there door behind her. There you have it. My one encounter with the Knight-Commander.”

Blackwall shook his head, raising his drink to Jethann. “Boy am I glad I asked you tell a story. Been a long time since I heard one that good.”

Jethann laughed and bowed slightly from his seat. “Glad I could entertain.”

Solas chuckled. “It was entertaining. The perfect distraction from the dreary weather.”

“Solas, I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said about me.”

“What, that your escapades make for good talk around the fire? I’m sure I can think of something more flattering.” Solas did his version of stoking the flames by snapping his fingers, the heat rising again. Jethann rubbed his ears and smiled.

Varric shook his head. “Wish you’d been there for the big fight with Meredith at the end. I bet she would have caught sight of you and ran. Would have solved a lot of problems.”

Jethann pressed his hand to his chest, affronted. “Ran? Don’t you mean embraced me, holding her cold templar heart in her hands, reading for the take it?”

“And would you if she offered it?” said Cassandra.

“Oh, I would take it,” he said, shifting his gaze to the center of the fire. “I’ve taken a lot of hearts. But she wouldn’t get anything back.”

“You don’t give what you take then,” said Bull. “Smart.”

“Not very romantic,” said Cassandra, sighing.

“I’m not trying to be romantic,” said Jethann. “I’m just trying to make a living.”

“Shouldn’t that be in the past tense? Unless you’ve got something you’re hiding from us,” said Varric. “And I find that unlikely; no one hides anything from me for long.”

“Because you’re nosy,” said Blackwall.

“No, because I’m smart! Gossip is the fuel of writing.”

“You mean you use your smarts to be nosy,” said Blackwall.

“You think you’re funny, Warden? See if you feel that way when you hear about the comic relief in my next book.”

Jethann noticed the way Cassandra’s eyes narrowed at that. Interesting. He rubbed his hands together, the rain past the outcropping showing no sign of letting up.

“And what would that be?”’

“The hilarious fumbling Warden Whitefence, of course. He’ll be a hit with the kids, I’m sure.”

Jethann snorted. “I don’t think a lot of kids read your books, Varric.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“You’d better not put me in your book as a-”

Blackwall was cut off by Sera, who stretched her lips and stuck out her tongue in what was apparently a condemnation of the conversation. “You’re all boring,” she announced. “I’m going to go explore. Anyone want to go with me?”

Jethann peered out past the outcropping. Past their sad tents was forest and empty paths, dark under the rainy night, coupled with the knowledge that undead lurked past the boundaries of their brave little camp. “You can pay me to do a lot of things, but I’m not going to go out there.”

“You’re no fun.”

“We have very different definitions of fun.”

Vivienne sniffed. “If she wants to go out and get herself killed, let her. We can explore a graveyard plot for her later.”

Sera huffed. Jethann could imagine a version of the woman where steam blew out her ears; the image fit right in. “Fine! Then I’m off by myself.”

Jethann exchanged a look with Cassandra. Letting Sera go off on her own sounded like a tremendously bad idea, and Jethann bet Sera knew it too; she was the kind of person who was too stubborn to give something up if she’d said she’d do it. Jethann had known people like that. They made a lot of mistakes. “If you want to miss another story, then go, but that’s on you.”

Vivienne sighed. “You’re going to regale us with another tale?”

Solas’s fingers snapped and the flames went higher. “You bet I am,” said Jethann. “I have a tale about Kirkwall’s Seneschal Bran I bet you wouldn’t believe.”

“Did you fuck all the higher-ups, Jet?” said Varric. Jet. He liked it. “Where you working your way through every last noble in Kirkwall and you didn’t even tell me so I could write a decent story about it?”

“Not all of them, but a fair few. If you do write that story, I better not fuck Warden Whitefence. I have standards.”

Blackwall spat out his sip of beer. The grin that spread across Jethann’s face was at least a tad self-satisfied.

“You look good happy,” said Vivienne. “It may prove impossible, but try to stay that way. You do bring down the mood ever so much when you’re not.”

“How can I be gloomy when you’re all positively raining compliments on me? Makes my skin glow.”

“I think that’s all the goop you put on it,” replied Sera, poking the magic fire with a stick and shrieking with glee when it sparked at her. Bull, next to her, winced and moved to the side slightly.

“That goop keeps all of you from guessing how old I am,” he replied.

“I think the Herald is suggesting a guessing game,” said Bull, raising his mug.

“I definitely am not!” he said loudly. “I’ll drink your nasty booze if it gets you to drop _that_ idea right now.”

“Sounds good to me,” said Bull, uncorking the liquor and offering it over to him. Jethann’s expression didn’t change at the strong smell and he defiantly took it from the qunari, his hands tiny in comparison to the Iron Bull’s. The rain was still coming down, and Jethann couldn’t tell whether the sounds he was hearing was the sound of rain on mud or the ghostly wails of living dead. Hard to tell, really.

He took a sip and laughed as it burned down his throat. “Isn’t he cute?” he said, sharing a smirk with Varric. “A man lives in a brothel for a decade and this guy thinks he can take me.”

“No offense, Boss, but you’re a little guy. I _can_ take you.”

“I bet you think a lot of things that aren’t true.”

Sera let out a low ‘ooooh.’ “You gonna let him talk to you like that, big guy?”

“Big, little, what’s it matter when it comes to drinking?” replied Bull with a smirk nearly as wide as Jethann’s own. “Let’s put your words to the test.”

***

Jethann woke in his tent with a throbbing headache. He just laid on the blankets for several minutes, pretending he couldn’t see the sunlight creeping in through the cracks between the flap and the sides. The rain hadn’t stopped (of course it hadn’t, he was beginning to doubt it ever did here) but he couldn’t even bring himself to care with the headache he had.

There was a knock at his tent flap door. He wasn’t sure how that was possible, but there it was. He squeezed his eyes shut for a long moment before popping them open and sitting up, pulling a ponytail holder off his wrist to hide his messy hair. He untied the tent flap to see Vivienne on the other side.

“And to what do I owe the pleasure?” he said, grateful the rain was there to block out the sun as his head pounded at him. He could ignore it, though; he’d been more hungover with more immediate pressing matters on him.

“It’s midday,” she replied. “The Seeker would like to know if you planned to go anywhere today.”

He thought back on the night before. He remembered most of it- a few years back he would have been able to recall all of it, but he wasn’t twenty anymore. He chuckled inwardly at the memory of Sera on Bull’s shoulders while Solas circled in alarm, prepared to catch the drunken woman if she fell. He’d have to tease the bald elf for caring more than he thought.

There was one thing he didn’t remember, however, and it was rather important.

“Who won?”

“My dear, you don’t look like a winner right now.” She used a finger to delicately gesture to his face. He resisted the urge to touch it; she meant his makeup, of course. Silly him for thinking he could hide his disheveled hair and forgetting what makeup looks like after a night of alcohol.

He smiled sweetly. “And what does the qunari look like right now?”

She hid a smile of her own. “He doesn’t look like a winner either. If you really must know, he passed out before you did. Only by a minute or two. And I will give you this; you kept your decorum far longer than any of us expected. Certainly far long than him.”

“I switched the liquor,” said Jethann. “Gave him the stronger stuff when he wasn’t looking. It’s what he gets for trying to make me drink that oil, and he was too drunk to notice by the time I did it.”

“Fascinating,” she said. “If I continue to bend like this I will ruin my outfit, so I’m afraid I must cut our conversation short. What should I tell Cassandra?”

“Tell her that my spirits are high enough from winning that I think I have the energy to start forging ahead in this terrible place,” he replied. “Just give me a few minutes.”

“How many minutes is a few?”

“Tell her to count and she’ll find out.”

“I doubt she’ll like that.”

“Speaking of things people don’t like,” said Jethann, reaching for his hand mirror so he could beginning fixing the mess a night of drinking had made of his face. “I’m surprised you agreed to play messenger to her. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I’m sure yours was a gentler way to wake up, but still.”

“I was interested to see how you’d handle yourself,” she replied. “Better than I gave you credit for.”

“As I’m sure you all realized last night, I have experience with these things,” he said. His head was certainly pounding and everything was a little fuzzy, but he could work through it.

“Ah, yes,” she said. “Definitely a skill to count on the list of things to matter. You’ll want to make sure you never lose _that_ ability, I’m sure.” The smile she sent was no longer flattering, and his returning one, now that he’d wiped the dried lipstick off his cheek, was equally cutting.

“Didn’t you need to leave so your clothes don’t get dirty?” he said, gaze no longer remotely focused on her as he began his makeup routine.

She didn’t reply, only stood and walked over to where Cassandra was presumably waiting. From the view from his half open tent flap Jethann could only see her shiny boots retreat as they battled the mud.

He had his routine down to a science and it was only a few minutes (plus a couple extra to make sure his makeup was waterproof) before he joined Cassandra at her spot at a table containing important documents. It was shoved under a low rock hanging to protect it from the rain and had a variety of heavy objects dumped on top of it to stop the papers from blowing away.

She was discussing something with one of the scouts and Solas when he appeared, pulling the hood he’d asked to be installed on his light chainmail outfit after the helmet on the Storm Coast up. She smiled as he approached. “I thought you’d never rise.”

“We had quite the exciting night last night,” said Jethann. “I have a feeling it’s going to be an exciting day, too.”

“You’re good to go, then? There are no…lingering effects of last night?”

“There are,” he said. “But it’s raining and the sun is hiding. I’ll be fine. We’ve already wasted enough time; we’re here to rescue soldiers, or at least I thought we were. Everything got a little confused last night. Didn’t Sera dare me to fuck them instead?”

“Yes, she did,” said Cassandra, sighing. “She’s quite the vulgar woman. So, all set then?”

“Definitely,” he replied, lifting his chin. “Let’s show the Fallow Mire who’s boss, shall we?” He couldn’t stop himself from continuing and paused, lifting his hand to his mouth to whisper conspiratorially, “It’s me.”

That was when he sneezed.

***

“I’m not getting sick,” he said.

They’d fought through a horde of undead to get to the beacon, which Jethann had lit himself, glad to see the light shine on the faces of his companions. Cassandra, Vivienne and Varric were the lucky souls who got to trudge through the Fallow Mire’s muddy roads and rancid waters with him, picking at corpses’ diseased tissue for requisitions and avoiding making as much noise as possible.

“Sure, kid,” said Varric. “I’m sure that sniffling you’re doing is for posterity. Maybe it’ll make the undead feel too bad for you to attack us.”

“That’s silly, they wouldn’t- oh, yes. I see, a joke.” Cassandra was suddenly very interested in a sack of elfroot on the road, pulling the roots out and storing them with an unusual intensity.

Jethann asked Vivienne to examine the runes on the side of the pillar with the beacon, squinting through the poor lighting to glare at Varric. “I’m fine,” he said. “On we go.”

***

After the second horde of undead was defeated he decided to retire from the group for a couple minutes to sit on a sack of grain and pretend he wasn’t coughing. He kicked a femur as he hacked into a handkerchief, watching Vivienne pace around the beacon with veilfire in her hand.

“Wow,” said Varric, approaching him. “You don’t look so good.”

“I think I’m still hungover from last night.”

Varric glanced at the sky. “This late?”

“You don’t know what time it is, Tethras. It’s been raining all day, and I don’t care how much time you’ve spent above ground, you don’t know a damn thing about the outdoors.”

The reply came out snapper than he meant, and he winced. Varric raised an eyebrow. “Touchy, aren’t we? But you’re not wrong. I try to avoiding learning about the outdoors. Can’t be good for your health. Especially not considering your delicate condition.”

“Sweetie, last time I checked I wasn’t pregnant.”

Varric laughed. “I set myself for that one.”

The dwarf walked back and forth, rubbing his hairless chin with a gloved hand. “You sure you’re up to this?”

“There are lives at stake. I wasted too much time being hungover this morning.”

“Fair enough, Jet. Fair enough.”

***

“The dwarf is right. You aren’t looking very good.”

“Rude, Varric. Since when do you discuss my appearance with the First Enchanter? Since when do you know anything about fashion in the first place?”

“I’m not talking about fashion and you know it. You’re a mess, big guy.”

Cassandra frowned but figured it out before asking about the joke.

The ground underneath was so muddy it was almost on a new level, coating their boots and the bottom of Vivienne’s staff more and more with every step. Jethann looked up at the sky and muttered a curse under his breath, rain splattering him in the eyes and running down his cheeks. The cold rain was what had caused his cold in the first place.

Cassandra hesitated as she lit the beacon. “You know,” she said. “They’re right.”

The sound of the undead screaming at the light shivered through, and Jethann unsheathed his daggers. “We’ll talk about it later,” he said, coughing into his sleeve.

***

“It’s later,” said Cassandra. “Let me guess; you are clutching your forehead like that because of a hangover that should have ended hours ago.”

“No,” he said, leaning against the beacon and sighing. “The rain got me sick. You’re all going to have to go ahead without me. I need to get back to camp.”

“Are you sure?” she said. “I know you wanted to see this through.”

Jethann laughed lightly, shutting his eyes as his head throbbed in response. His hand moved from his temple to his mouth as he coughed into his arm. “No, I’m sick. Congrats, Varric, you were right.”

“Can my reward be you getting safe and dry?” said Varric. “That, or some Kirkwall beer. Your pick.”

“Looks like you’re doomed to stay sober, Tethras,” he replied. “I’m getting back to camp. This place is far too wet for my liking. I’ll send Sera your way to replace me.”

“What about me?” said Cassandra.

Jethann stared at her. “What about you?”

“Who are you going to replace me with? I’m not letting you walk back by yourself.”

Jethann glanced around. Vivienne was pointedly paying attention while Varric was whistling and staring at the branches of a tree, probably one of the few dwarves looking upward around Thedas in this moment.

“I can handle myself.”

Cassandra let out her next breath through her nose, causing her to resemble an irritated stallion. “I am not trying to make a statement about your skills. I would do the same thing for any ally in your situation.”

“Oh? You know, I almost believe you when you say that.”

“So who will it be then?”

“Blackwall,” he said instantly. “Is that a question? I bet the Iron Bull is still passed out.”

“You sure have a high estimate of your tolerance there,” said Varric, chuckling. “But I think you made a good choice there, even if it means me and Buttercup are going to be stuck with the wondrous arguing duo.”

“For your sake I’m going to pretend you never said that,” replied Vivienne. “Now shoo, before you say something even more offensive. I’m not getting any younger here.”

He hesitated as they prepared to leave. “Good luck getting the soldiers back,” he said lamely, unable to think of anything to said. Clearly inspiring speeches weren’t his forte.

Jethann and Cassandra started their walk back. It had taken several hours to make it as far as they had, but that had been with frequent stops to fight undead hordes; Cassandra seemed fairly certain that they weren’t going to run into any more than the odd straggler, and she turned out to be right.

The chill was getting to Jethann, who was beginning to find that all the dark trees ahead of them were blurring together. He ran his hands up and down his arms and tried to walk close to Cassandra without walking _too_ close.

“We haven’t looked at that letter of yours,” she said suddenly. “It slipped my mind.”

“Is now the time?” he replied.

Cassandra shrugged. “Why not? You’ve been coming a long way in learning how to read, and your friend in Kirkwall is probably beginning to wonder if you even got her letter in the first place.”

“Serendipity is a patient woman,” he replied. “But still, you’re right. Might distract me from this awful cough, at least.”

He pulled the letter out of his inner jacket. It was safe and dry, completely unopened. The paper was crisp, as nice as any you could find in Kirkwall. He broke the seal on it, trying to protect it from the rain by keeping it close to his body. He unfolded the letter and tucked the envelope away, looking at the first line. Serendipity’s handwriting was like Cassandra’s, flat and easy to read.

“Dear Jethann,” he said, reading the first two words easily. The first was in every letter, the second his name. Couldn’t get simpler. “We heard about you all the way in…” He hesitated, looking at Cassandra.

She nodded encouragingly. “Just sound it out.”

“Ke…rk…wall. Kirkwall! That’s so obvious, I feel so silly now.”

“Don’t, you’re a fast learner. I’m sure I wouldn’t be doing as well as you in your place. I am not exactly a master of language.”

“You’re sweet,” he said absentmindedly, distracting himself from the rain and his sore throat by concentrating on the letters in front of him. They were swimming slightly and he blinked, trying to focus them. “The next line is…I hope you’re…doing well. Ever since that…this word is impossible.”

“Ever since that impossible?”

He laughed, then coughed. Catching a cold was really quite lovely. “No, I can’t read it.”

“Sound it out, Jethann. You can read it.”

“You’re so motivating. Okay, so…Ever since that con…nive…ing…conniving. Ever since that conniving hag threw us out of the…why is this word capitalized? I thought you said only places are.”

Cassandra glanced over, her cheek brushing his hair. The rain was closer to drizzling than pouring now and there was enough light from the sky to let him read it easily. “Why would the word is rose be capitalized?”

“I’m an idiot. _The_ Rose. The brothel I worked at. So, she’s saying…ever since that conniving hag threw out us elves of the Rose, things have been…hard for us. I was…wor-ried about you.”

All the reading was giving him a headache to go with all his other symptoms. He smiled at the words, though. It was so strange to be getting a message from Serendipity when he was so far from home. “Don’t get into too much..tro-ub-le without me. I hope this…mes-sage-”

Cassandra stopped to correct his pronunciation softly, or as softly as she could, and he nodded, repeating it after her and feeling the word click into his brain. Message. Of course.

“I hope this message gets to you safe-ly. I’m good, by the way. Thanks for asking. You wo-ul-dn’t have if you were here, but I’ll…pretend you did. Bran has been good to me. Ter-ib-le to ev-ry-one else, of course, but that’s Bran.”

Cassandra chuckled. “I remember Seneschal Bran. I’ve never seen anyone unhappier to be in a position of power in my life. Half the city clamoring for him to take control and he has a face like a sour lemon.”

“He always does except when he’s looking at Serendipity. Then it’s more like…a happy lemon. A lemon with hope.”

“A lemon with hope. I hope that’s not the description of me people use to describe me when I look happy.”

“Let me know when you’re happy and I’ll check.”

“Perhaps if we close the Breach. A good mood is almost guaranteed then.” They exchanged a smile. Not a smirk, or forced and awkward communication, but a smile.

Cassandra shook her head like a dog waking up. “I didn’t mean to distract from your letter. Please, continue.”

Jethann looked down, sniffling slightly. The letter was helping him forget how badly his throat hurt at this point. “Everyone is won-der-ing about you know. The no-bles who slept with you won’t shut up about it. I hope you’re…” He trailed off. ‘I hope you’re safe’, said Serendipity, followed by, ‘Please write. How can I know it’s really you?’ And then, finally, ‘Your brother sends his love.’

Cassandra was silent, letting him read. Jethann took a deep breath and finished the last part of the letter, something he didn’t feel so self-conscious about. “Fuck twice the people you would normally, for me, okay? Stay safe. Love, your favorite Serendipity.”

He folded the letter and tucked it back past his chainmail into the shirt underneath. It was a little wet but water never hurt anyone, right? Well, except him. He coughed into his arm, quietly cursing the awful swamp. Cassandra may have heard him but he couldn’t be sure.

“Well look at that,” he drawled, crossing his arms to hide how much he hated the water that dripped from his hood and the way he had to lose any sense of decorum in favor of sniffling every ten seconds. “We’re finally back.”

He’d never been so glad to see a patch of muddy land before. He trudged towards his tent, Cassandra still by his side. She hesitated as he untied the flap. “Is there anything I can get you?”

“It’s a cold, Seeker. I’ll be fine. Looking forward to the blankets, though.”

She shook her head, her shifting feet made more obvious by the mud. “Colds can turn bad quickly. It’s important for the Inquisition’s sake that you remain healthy.”

“The Inquisition’s sake? How sweet of you.”

“For…for my sake too, if you really must know.”

Jethann glanced back at her. Her brow was furrowed in deep concentration. He smiled. “Now that is sweet. Go tell Sera and Blackwall that it’s their lucky day…and good night.”

He began to clamber into his tent in earnest, but stopped again. “Also…thank you for helping me read that. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

She nodded and walked away. He tied the tent flap shut, but only after she was out of sight. For the second night in a row he fell asleep with his makeup on.

***

Blankets were warm, the sky was still open and drizzling, and Jethann was sick. He didn’t care if the scouts snickered at him, he wasn’t letting anyone drag the blanket off him as he sat under the rock outcropping and waited for the party to return.

“You look ridiculous, Boss.”

“Rich, coming from a qunari who was drunk under the table by a man half his size.”

“A third his size. Credit where it’s due.”

“You’re so kind.”

“I don’t think my men would agree, but if you say so.”

“And what would they call you?” said Jethann, laughing slightly. Maybe he shouldn’t be talking so much with a sore throat, but the Iron Bull was an entertaining companion.

“I probably shouldn’t repeat the things they’d say in present company.”

Jethann snorted. “Present company? It doesn’t matter what I am now, there’s probably not a word that can come out of your mouth what would surprise me. But it doesn’t matter now, big guy, we’ve got something else to think about.”

There were people trudging up the path in their direction. More than four of them, in fact. A whole group of Inquisition soldiers were on their way back, led by Cassandra and the other members of their merry crew that he’d sent away.

Sera caught sight of him in his blanket huddle and bounded up to him, skidding to a halt inches away from his face. He didn’t flinch. “You need a haircut,” he said.

“That bloody _sucked!_ If you weren’t sick I’d rip you a new arsehole!”

“To match the one Avaar gave you, I’m guessing?”

She squinted at him. “Is that supposed to be funny? Do you know how big that bugger’s sword was? Too big! Like, six times too big.”

“Sera, I promise you, if my body hadn’t decided to give in and get sick, I would be right there with you, screaming and dodging that giant sword.”

Sera scoffed. “You don’t do that much screaming.”

“You spend a couple of days without me and you forget the screaming? Wow, I’m hurt. I’ll have to get back in combat as soon as I can and remind you what fighting by my side is like.”

Sera snickered. “You’re all right, you know that? Get better soon or I’ll make you.”

“I don’t like the sound of that,” he replied, coughing delicately into the back of his hand.

“Then get better!”

“I’ll do my best,” he promised, watching her whirl away and starting her routine of bothering every scout in the camp. He thought about warning her off them but saw one crack a smile as she took a jar out of her pocket and began shaking it viciously.

“She’s energetic, I’ll give her that,” said Blackwall. There was a deep gash on his forehead, deep enough that he’d fixed it up with a bandage. There was dried blood on his face, but he didn’t seem to care.

“It went well, then?”

“The bastard was upset you weren’t there, but since we killed him either way, what’s it matter? We got the soldiers back, Herald. I think you’ll be happy to hear that.”

“Good job, Warden Blackwall,” he said. “Good work, all of you.” He said the latter bit loud enough for Sera, Varric, and Vivienne to hear as well.

Blackwall shot him a strange look. The Warden was shaking water out of his beard, the thick cloth under his armor sodden, but he shifted so he was standing taller. Jethann’s nose was red, his hair was a mess, and he was wrapped in a blanket, but still Blackwall looked at him with something akin to respect. Like he really thought he was the Herald of Andraste. He hadn’t thought anyone who spent any real time with him would think that, but here they were.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews are not only welcome but desperately lusted for.


	10. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when I was like 'yeah I'm probably going to go on hiatus soon'? Well, your comments when I said no one was reading made me appreciate all of you so much that here I am with another chapter! I should never have said that- some of you have been reviewing for a long time, and while there aren't a lot of you, you make this worthwhile. Thank you so much for reading this so far; it's your support that keeps me going. Also, I've been rereading and taking notes on the early chapters so I can actually remember what's happened in the story so far, which I've give far more attention than any of my actual class notes. I can't believe I'm taking notes on my own fanfiction.

Cullen was handsome enough, but there was something about the whole oppressing mages that really put him off for Jethann. That and the sour expression. The man needed to look in a mirror and practice smiling once and awhile. He mimicked the face the former templar was making as Cullen began his tirade about not having enough manpower to storm Redcliffe Castle. Jethann didn’t care; he’d picked the mages, and he was going to stick by that decision. Why was that so hard for the man to understand?

The last sentence out of Cullen’s mouth was some drivel about contacting the templars. Jethann rolled his eyes, sitting up straighter and rubbing the red spot on his face from where he’d been pressing his palm into his cheek. “We’re not doing that,” he said. “I may not like that mages can fry someone’s insides if they want to, but I’m not going to the templars.”

“And why is that?” said Cullen, turning to him. “You may be the Herald of Andraste, but you don’t know military strategy. Until recently you knew very little of strategy of any kind.”

“A nice way to tell me to shut up because I’m a whore,” he replied. “But I’m not going to, sweetheart. Now that I’m here, it’s going to be difficult to get me to stop listening and do what you want me to.”

Jethann didn’t have a good explanation for the vitriol he was spitting. Well, he did, but no one was asking what it was, which was fine, since he wasn’t even sure that he wanted to talk about it. All he could think about were the templars, and the way they’d treated the women and men at the Rose, the way that the higher-ups like Cullen- even Cullen himself- had looked right through him, the things they’d said about mages when Jethann was the only one who could hear, and it’s not like what a whore hears matters, right?

Cassandra turned her angry gaze on both of them. “We don’t have the time for this right now. We finally have the influence to approach either the mages or the templars. We must decide which.”

“What do you think, Cassandra?” he asked.

“Redcliffe is in the hands of a magister. This cannot be allowed to stand.”

“The letter from Alexius asked for the Herald of Andraste by name. It’s obviously a trap,” said Josephine, whose brow seemed contorted in what might have been real concern. Jethann might not like every single thing she did, but she’d fussed over him almost every time they’d talked, and it had been a long time since anyone bothered to do that.

“Oh, that’s exciting,” he replied. “No one’s ever wanted to trap me before. At least not like this. I’m sure I can remember a few times where that’s been true.”

Leliana chuckled. “Well, unfortunately this trap is no fun for anyone.”

“Not true,” he countered. “I’m sure Alexius would disagree.”

“Since none of us are Alexius,” said Cullen. “I suggest we move on.” His tone suggested that that he’d picked up Jethann’s animosity. Jethann didn’t care; although he hadn’t ruled out that Cullen would miss it, he’d figured you’d have to be about as dumb as a rock to.

“And what is it you have to say?” said Jethann.

“I would like to point out that Redcliffe is one of the most defensive fortresses in Ferelden. It has repelled thousands of assaults. If you go in there, you’ll die. And we’ll lose the only means we have of closing these rifts. I won’t allow it.”

“You won’t allow it?” he replied coldly. “If I die, cut off my hand and keep going, since that’s what’s so important to you. I’m going to do what I want, and I want to meet with Alexius. I want the mages, I want to close the Breach, and most importantly, Cullen Rutherford, I want you to shut up.”

The look on the templar’s face was difficult to describe, but Jethann still thought he would give relaying that disbelief and anger a try properly if confronted with a proper artist. Getting that down on canvas would be priceless.

“If we don’t meet with Alexius, we leave a hostile foreign power on our doorstep.”

“Even if we could assault the keep, it would be for naught. An “Orlesian” Inquisition’s army marching into Ferelden would provoke a war. Our hands are tied.”

Jethann clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “I didn’t say anything about declaring war or starting a battle, did I? I just want the rebel mages. I’m going to meet with Alexius.”

Three mouths opened to protest, so he held up a finger. “Listen to me. Felix, that cute son of Alexius’s, had some interesting things to say. Apparently his people are part of a cult obsessed with me. While I can’t blame them, I don’t think they’ll take too kindly to me telling them to back off. They’re not an overeager suitor, they’re a dangerous group of baddies from Tevinters with the means to cause some serious damage. They’re not going to just stomp angrily a few times and admit defeat. Meeting with them is the only option.”

“That can’t be true,” replied Cullen, heat rising to his face. “Not when that option is idiotic.”

“I didn’t say I was going to go in without a plan,” said Jethann. “How stupid are you?”

Leliana opened her mouth to suggest something when the door slammed open. “Judging by the looks of him, I think he might surpass your expectations on that front,” said Dorian. He looked dashing in the lighting of the candles, holding himself with the kind of swagger only a man who knows he’s making an entrance can have.

Jethann came very close to continuing the insult train derailing the former Templar’s pride, but one look at the man told him he should continue this at a later date.

“So,” he said. “Why are you here?”

“I have information,” said Dorian.

“Good,” said Leliana. “Because with a distraction and some shimmying through an old passageway, I have a plan.”

* * *

 

Jethann was halfway out the door before he felt a gentle touch on his elbow. He looked to see the ambassador, Josephine, at his side. He looked at her, tilting his chin up slightly to meet her gaze. “What is it?”

“There’s a woman in the infirmary who wants to see you,” she said. She was beaming, but trying to hide it.

Jethann raised an eyebrow. “Do I know her? I’m a busy man, you know. Companions to chit chat with, people to avoid, scars to apply ointment to.” He’d been planning to find Varric and challenge him to a card game just to while away the day without having to think about the fate of the world or any of that stuff.

“I think you’d like to see this woman,” said Josephine, tugging gently on his arm again.

Jethann rolled his eyes but let her lead him outside the Chantry and into the cold air. He was wearing a thick winter coat but still found himself shivering as frosted flakes coated the stone surfaces and thatched roofs around them. When he looked up into the sky, avoiding eye contact with the Breach, the sun was casting colored rings around itself the way it does on stark winter days. He’d had a customer who’d told him he reminded him of a winter morning. Jethann had taken it as a compliment.

The infirmary was unchanged except for the much larger supply of medicine and herbs stocking the walls. Jethann briefly wondered if that had anything to do with his misadventures out in the Hinterlands and other assorted wildernesses, but dismissed the the idea. They called him the Herald of Andraste but he really hadn’t been of much use up until now. He’d gotten them a brothel, that was about it. They could have done the rest without him. Well, except the brothel and closing Rifts.

There were soldiers healing in cots. Some were healing. Some were dying. Jethann’s eyes didn’t linger on them only because he didn’t want them to. Didn’t want to think about the danger he was always in now. When he did it felt like some hole had opened in him and was sucking the breath right out of him.

Then he heard the baby. His gaze shot back up from where it had been trained on the creaky wooden floorboards to the woman in the end cot.

“The kid’s not mine, right?” he whispered to Josephine. He was trying to be funny, or something along those lines; even if he’d see the woman with the infant in her arms before, there was no possibility that the child was his.

“No, of course not!” said Josephine, before pausing. She was suddenly considering the possibilities.

The woman spotted him and her face lit up, spreading freckles across her cheeks.

“It’s really you,” she said, gasping and sitting up, the blankets around her pulling against her in her haste.

“I am me, yes,” he replied, walking towards her at yet another tug on his elbow from Josephine.

“The Herald of Andraste! You really came to see me!”

The woman’s face was split in a grin now, bright eyes trained on her face as she rocked her baby. He found himself smiling out of habit and made it to her bedside. He noticed that her blankets were stained with blood. Jethann didn’t have a ton of experience with the whole infant thing, but he was pretty sure they were supposed to be larger than the one in the woman’s arms.

“I did,” he said. “What’s your name?”

“Grace,” said the woman. “I’m a soldier, or I was. Will be soon, if I can get someone to help with the baby. My man was a soldier too, but he died. Apparently we all almost did. Would have without the mage that saved me.”

“I’m glad you’re not dead,” he said. “Either of you.”

He found himself smiling at her, a new kind of smile he didn’t know how to place. Not sarcastic or angry or even just a smile. Sweet, maybe? Understanding? While he tried to figure that out he realized she was speaking.

“When I asked you to come, I never thought you actually would,” Grace was saying. “Seeing as you’re so busy. I heard you saved the soldiers in the Fallow Mire?”

“Ah,” said Jethann. “Yes, I was there.” He’d been sick for the actual raid, but he did remember the whole drinking contest part.

“You’re modest too,” said the woman. “That’s a good quality in a prophet.”

She kept smiling. Her exuberance had distracted Jethann from how emaciated she was, how her skin wasn’t quite the right color, the way her movements were slower than they should be. It had clearly not been an easy birth.

“Why did you ask me here, Grace?” he said softly.

Her smile held on, but there was something else in her eyes. Fear surfaced beneath hazel irises. “I was hoping you could bless my baby…the doctors say he might not live. He almost never cries.”

Jethann looked at the infant. So small. “He cried when I walked in.”

“I know,” she whispered. “That gives me hope.”

Jethann had only said the Maker’s name in the privacy of a brothel room or in the back of a barn on top of stacks of hay before all this. Now he was a prophet. Still, the infant was so small.

“I’ll do my best,” he said. He slipped the glove he wore to cover the mark off. The green glow seemed to entrance, not only Josephine and Grace, but the baby as well.

Jethann didn’t notice the cold seeping in despite the cracked brick fireplaces trying to keep the heat alive. He didn’t notice the noblewoman with skill in diplomacy gasp beside him or the moans of the man dying in the cot over. It was suddenly just him and the little red baby being rocked in its mother’s arms.

“May the power of Andraste flow from my hand and into this child,” he murmured. “May your child be blessed, not only with life, but good fortune and good looks. May your child be successful in all their endeavors, by the Maker’s will.”

He didn’t realize his eyes were closed until he opened them. Grace was crying as she rocked her infant. Josephine was using a handkerchief to dab her own eyes. It took a second longer than usual to fix his smile back into place.

“Thank you,” said Grace. “Thank you so much.”

“I need to go now,” he said, not because he was truly busy but because the room was suddenly far too hot.

He was halfway out the door when she called, “When he lives, I’m going to name him after you!”

* * *

 

Redcliffe Castle certainly was Ferelden. For once, Jethann meant that in a good way. The place would have been warm and friendly if in the hands of its proper owner. As it was, the thickly gilded frames to all the paintings were off center on the wall, some of them simply thrown to the ground like a kind of unearthly force had blown through. He had to wonder if one annoyed Tevinter mage had gone around knocking them all off-kilter.

And just like that, they were greeted by two Tevinter mages walking stiffly towards them, hands clasped behind their horribly clashing robes. Jethann sniffed disdainfully. Not even the most ridiculous Orlesian nobles had dressed like that, not even for their night out at the whorehouse.

“Well?” he said. “Are you going to say anything or are you going to stare at me? That costs, you know.”

The look the mage gave him in return made him glad Cassandra and the Iron Bull were on either side of him. As it was he was flanked by two big and scary warriors, one of them with devil horns and the other a Qunari (he laughed at that thought and resolved never to share it), so he smirked.

A new man walks up, his clothes Ferelden. A man of the Arl’s left behind or an opportunist? “The Magister’s invitation was for Master Jethann only. The others will have to remain here.”

Jethann felt suddenly much less safe. “I don’t go anywhere without them. A man like me, with my reputation, who knows what you could do to me in there? For all we know this was a ploy to see if I’m really as good as the stories say. No, they come with me we all go.”

As they passed the masked doorkeepers, Jethann was unable to resist the urge to reach over and lightly tap one of their masks with his finger. “Boop,” he said.

The man flinched. The Iron Bull laughed. They followed the other man into the main hall and found the Magister they were looking for.

“My lord Magister, the Agents of the Inquisition have arrived.”

The fire was warmer than any personality in the room. Magister Alexius stood from where he had been lounging in the Arl’s chair and smiled the way men did when they were paying the Madame extra to tie him up and have him the way they wanted.

“A Seeker, a Qunari, and a whore. The Inquisition must be hard up if they send this party.”

“Coy,” said Jethann. “Especially when _you_ invited _me_ here.”

Alexius paced in front of his stolen throne. “Just you, not the bodyguards you keep with you. They’re going to ruin all the fun.”

“Oh, I guess I was right all along,” said Jethann. His smirk was in place, but his eyes were searching the room for enemies, people planning to attack him. He didn’t like the idea of being trapped here with this man, anything but. The hair on the back of his neck was raised and he wanted to flee back out the door they had entered. “Like I told the guys out front, I’m not here for that.”

“Ah, yes, you wanted to discuss my plans for the rebel mages,” said Alexius. Jethann’s gaze shot to Fiona, who stiffened at the Magister’s words. There were bags under her eyes etched so deeply Jethann could see them from his distance.

There’s a rasp to Alexius’s voice that Jethann would like on another man, something charming about the older man. It reminds him of many men, so many faces that he can’t place any of them more than an indistinct blob.

“I’m sure we can work something out,” said Alexius, eying Jethann with a familiar predatory gaze. A scare tactic…or maybe just something to further delegitimize him in the eyes of those present.

Fiona stepped forward, looking even paler closer up. “Are we mages to have no say in deciding our fate?”

“Fiona, you would not have turned your followers over to my care if you did not trust me with their lives.”

Jethann bounced on his heels, snorting. “That’s rich, don’t you think? He comes and finds you all trapped and ready to give up and exploits you for it, then claims you ‘trusted’ him with your mages. Men like him never change.”

“And _what_ do you know about men like me?” said Alexius, taking a step closer to Jethann. Jethann felt like he’d once seen someone compare Tevinter to a snake’s nest. Right about now it felt like an apt comparison.

“Sweetie,” he replied. “You just told me everything with one sentence.”

There was a pause. “Nice one,” said Iron Bull finally. “That was a nice one. You go, Boss.”

“Thank you,” he said. “More to the point, I think it’s only fair Fiona’s part of this talk.”

“So, to simplify it for some of us present,” said Alexius. “You need mages to close the Breach. I need something in return. What, exactly, do you have to give me for this service?” His mouth took an extra long time to close around that final word. Beside him, Cassandra shivered. Jethann didn’t flinch.

The plan should happen around now, Jethann knew. He might say that that knowledge contributed to his boldness, but he knew he would have said it regardless. “If you don’t give me what I want, I’ll have my forces slaughter every last person in this building, and I’ll cut off your most precious bits myself.”

Alexius’s eyes widened ever so slightly. It was enough. Now Jethann was the one grinning.

Alexius recovered enough to say, “And how do you suppose you’ll accomplish such a feat?”

Felix, standing by his father’s side as usual, turned. “He knows everything, father.”

“Felix, what have you done?” He sounded less angry than worried. Interesting.

“I think it’s pretty obvious,” said Jethann. “He told us about your freaky cult that’s obsessed with. If you want locks of my hair you’re going to have to pay me a whole lot of sovereigns.”

“Enough with the witty quips,” said Cassandra, teeth gritted. “Can’t you see we are in danger here?”

“Yes,” said Jethann. “Thanks to you people, I am always in danger.”

Alexius’s anger was directed on them again. “You think you can turn my son against me?”

“Honey, I can turn anyone if I want to.” Another snicker from Bull.

“Stop! Stop your insolence! You waltz in here with your stolen mark- a mark you don’t even understand- and think you’re in control! You’re just a little whore with a bad attitude. Nothing but a mistake. Before this no man in the world would claim you as their own and for good reason!”

Jethann didn’t move. He could hear the blood roaring in his own ears. Nothing but a mistake. His eyelids fluttered for a moment and he said evenly, the saccharine voice gone, “What do you know about the Divine’s death?”

“It was the Elder One’s moment, and you are unworthy even to stand in his presence! In my presence!”

The room wasn’t spinning but Jethann almost wished it was, because maybe he’d be drunk then and not standing in the middle of the halls of a man who wished him dead, who saw him as nothing more than a whore who’d overstepped his station the same way the rest of Thedas did, who could look at him and think he knew everything there was to know about Jethann from Kirkwall’s Lowtown.

“Do you hear yourself, father?” said Felix through the rushing in Jethann’s ears. “Do you know what you sound like?”

“He sounds exactly like the sort of villainous cliché everyone expects us to be.”

“Dorian,” said Alexius as Dorian walked out from behind a pillar, his grin unaffected by Alexius’s words. Of course. Out of the all the people in the room, the only one those insults had any weight to was Jethann. “I gave you a chance to be a part of this. You turned me down. The Elder One has plans you would not believe. He will raise the Imperium from its own ashes.”

“Surprise, surprise,” said Jethann softly. “You serve pure evil. Who would have guessed.”

“Evil? No, greatness. Soon he will become a god. He will make the world bow to mages once more. He will rule from the Boeric Ocean to the Frozen Seas.”

“You can’t involve my people in this!” exclaimed Fiona, coming alive.

“Alexius, this is exactly what you and I talked about never wanting to happen! Why would you support this?”

No one else seemed to notice it, not Cassandra or Bull even, but Jethann did. One of the Venatori guards standing by the pillars at the side of the room let out a barely perceptible gasp and fell to his knees. Jethann didn’t turn his head, but he could see the trickle of blood from his throat before he was dragged out of sight. Good. About time.

Jethann waited. He was sick of this game, where he showed up because the men and woman around a table directed him there and let him feel like he was making decisions; because he had thought he’d made this choice himself, but what does one choice matter when you don’t even have the freedom to leave without threat of death?

They argued, Dorian and Felix and Alexius, about this Elder One, and about Felix’s health, and about how it was _the only way_ , the nice way of saying that Alexius would let thousands die if it meant his son would take another breath.

Jethann found that he didn’t care about Felix. He didn’t want to care about _any_ of this, but here he was. He hadn’t run, had he? That had to count for something.  

“The Elder One demands this one’s life!”

The rest of the Venatori went down to knives in the back, and Jethann looked Magister Alexius in the eye. “You can’t have it,” he said. “None of you can.”

“You are a mistake,” said Alexius. “And you never should have existed.”

He began to draw power out of the air, green light surging and flaring in the volatile environment. He was doing something bad, something intended to end Jethann, but he wasn’t the useless man they thought he was, even if it had been just a mistake, and he lifted his left hand into the air, an amulet dangling from it, and prepared to strike even as Dorian did.

Green light everywhere. Then, nothing.

* * *

 

Wherever they were, it was wet. Jethann felt his body slam into water and cried out in pain as he struggled back to a standing position just in time to see guards rush in with weapons out. They shouted something he didn’t catch and ran towards him.

If it weren’t for Dorian he would be dead, as out of it and confused as he was. He hardly had his daggers out by the time Dorian had dispatched the two guards. They lay in the water, sizzling slightly as Jethann put his weapons back. They were in a dungeon of some sort; there were cells all around them, and the sacks and pots here looked like they hadn’t seen anything but rot in decades.

And then there was the red lyrium. It was all Varric seemed to be worried about, so Jethann kept his distance. He’d told Jethann that it was what drove Meredith mad.

“Displacement? Interesting,” said Dorian, rubbing his chin with his fingers.

“Interesting?” said Jethann. “Is that what you call it?”

He glanced over at Jethann. “You know, I don’t recall you being especially talented, but I did think you were a little more skilled than _that_.”

A laugh bubbled out of him, filled with more hysteria than humor. “I’m a bit distracted! What the fuck is going _on?_ A second ago we were fighting Alexius, and now we’re standing knee deep in water in the middle of a prison!”

“We’re not behind bars, at least,” said Dorian. “Please give me a moment to work out what’s happening.”

Jethann hit the water for a lack of another way to express himself. The slash was not nearly satisfying enough. He almost wished another set of guards would happen upon them.

“I doubt this is what Alexius wanted to happen. The rift must have moved us…to what? The closest confluence of arcane energy?”

“The only one here who understand a word of that if you,” said Jethann. “If you’re going to talk out loud, do it so I can get what you’re saying! Not all of us are mages!”

Dorian ignored him, which did nothing for Jethann’s sour mood. He bent down, looking at something imperceptible to the elf. “The last thing I remember is talking to Alexius too. Let’s see…if we’re still in the castle, it isn’t…oh! Of course! It’s not simply where, it’s when!”

Jethann’s hand shot out and grabbed the front of Dorian’s complicated robes. “Make sense, Dorian! I’m sick of this magic bullshit!”

Dorian looked down at Jethann’s arm in surprise. “Don’t tell me you’re turning into one of those mage hating lunatics of the south.”

“Is this the kind of magic that makes templars hate you so much?” said Jethann, teeth clenched. He let go of Dorian’s robes, and the other man stepped back a bit and readjusted his clothing.

“No,” said Dorian. “I don’t have much formal experience with templars here, except that they usually like to lock up little kids after they accidentally burn down the family barn. But I expect you know that, deep down.”

“Mages like this don’t make anyone like you better.”

“Do I really deserve to be judged by Alexius’s actions? Does every mage? You seem a reasonable man. How would you feel if I said the same thing about elves?”

“I’m sure you have,” said Jethann, unable to keep the bitterness from coloring his tone. “There are a lot of things people pretend I haven’t heard now, but I know what you Tevinters think. Just because I don’t know shit about magic doesn’t mean I’m a complete idiot.”

“Maybe I have, maybe I haven’t,” said Dorian. “Either way, we’re not responsible for the actions of one member of our respective groups. You know that.”

“I do,” said Jethann, resisting the urge to slam his hand into a stone wall. His fingers were too pretty to end up broken like that. “Alexius doing…whatever this is doesn’t make it easy, but I do.”

“Sent us back through time,” said Dorian. “That’s what he did.”

Jethann stared at Dorian. The dank and thick smell of the rotting air around them was never more present. Jethann took a gasp of it as he steadied himself against the wall.

“I’m surprised you didn’t get that before now,” said Dorian. “Although I suppose you are distracted.”

“Will you stop with the fucking jokes for one second!” said Jethann, who was suddenly sweating despite the chill.

“Didn’t our dear Seeker say that to you just a few moments ago?” said Dorian. “Although it could be years?”

“Well, what is it?” said Jethann, voice rising. “Is it years? Days? Months? Tell me, you useless so-called expert! How much exactly has this endeavor fucked with my life?”

“Selfish, aren’t we?”

“If I don’t think about myself, no one will,” he hissed. “So what is it?”

“I don’t know,” admitted Dorian, although the admission was less placating with that smirk of his still intact. “I have no idea what day or year it is. We’ll have to find out.”

“You will,” he said. “I’m not doing this anymore. I can’t do this. I never signed on to- to go through time! I’ve let you all lead me around on a leash and now look what’s happened!”

“Quiet, if you’re going to attract guards-“

“I don’t care!” He was shouting now, fingers grappling for a sack, a barrel. “You’ve killed me either way!” He found purchase in a pot and chucked it at Dorian’s head. Dorian ducked it gracefully, although Jethann wasn’t exactly in a position to notice that.

“You and your Tevinter Magisters and your Elder One and your Breach! Alexius is right! This was a mistake, all of this, and if I could go back in time and let myself die when I was chased out of the Fade, I would!”

Dorian, this Tevinter Magister who knew nothing of the Herald of Andraste but his mediocre fighting skill and well-timed quips, was taken aback. Jethann was taken aback, but more than that, he meant every word of it.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it! :) Reviews, as always, are great.


	11. Chapter Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update time! No new warnings that I can think of. Hope you can like it! :)

"On a scale of one to ten, how wet do you think my ass is right now?"

It was the first word Jethann had said in quite a while. After his screaming fit, and the ensuing fight the attention had brought, Jethann had sat down on a few sacks and decided to rest his hoarse throat.

"Eight, maybe," said Dorian in response. He had decided to stand instead of ruining the back of his robes the same way the fringes of them had been.

"I was going to go for nine," said Jethann. "I wouldn't put it past the world to find a way to make my ass even wetter than it is now, so I'm leaving the hypothetical open."

"Smart," said Dorian. "Are you ready to keep moving then?"

"No," said Jethann, standing. "But I will anyway."

As they finally stepped out of the room, Dorian paused. "I was somewhat callous earlier. I get excited about magic and its applications, and I did not stop to think about the affects on you this might have. Hopefully you can forgive me for that."

"I can and I have," said Jethann. "Hopefully you can forgive me for throwing a pot at your head."

"If I hadn't dodged it might have been more difficult," said Dorian. "But I did, and so we're fine. Try your best to keep it together until we get out of this mess, though? Believe it or not, I don't want to see you dead."

"You're so sweet," he replied. "Maybe I'll save the day by throwing pots, who knows. But I'll do my best." He trusted that Dorian hadn't meant to sound condescending; that was, as far as Jethann could tell, just his natural cadence.

The hallway out of the cell was more of the same. Jethann dodged a stream of the water steadily pouring from the ceiling and skirted around some more red lyrium, wondering how the place had gotten absolutely infected with the stuff. They passed more pots and sacks, walking past empty cells while sodden hay drifted in the water. Jethann was fairly sure his expression was stuck in a permanent state of distaste.

"Was this place always so disgusting, or is that a new addition since we've fast forwarded into the unknown?" asked Jethann, lazily stepping over a broken vase to continue on their path.

"It used to be filled with the tackiest statues of dogs you'd ever seen," replied Dorian. "You almost miss it."

"I'd pay to see a dog if it meant we were in the time and place we were supposed to be."

"You mean getting blasted with an amulet?"

"Oh, yes," said Jethann. "Obviously what I meant."

The banter puts a smile on his face, even if it's a sarcastic one, and that's something at least. They soon reached the end of the hall, finding a staircase on either side.

"Wait," said Dorian. "I've been here before. Let's take _that_ one." He points in the direction he means with a sweep of his arm. How dramatic.

They open the door and find only pots with a few cheap treasures inside. Jethann can't suppress the grin. "You mustachioed liar," he declares as they descend the stairs and head to the other side.

"Forgive me if I didn't spend much time in the dungeons in my prior visit," said Dorian. "I've been tracking Alexius, not taking tours of his stolen property."

The only especially remarkable sight on their trip upstairs was finding a cell that wasn't empty. Jethann approached the man in it, hands on his hips. He had a talent for faces, or so he liked to claim, and this man looked familiar.

"Andraste blessed me, Andraste blessed me," the man was mumbling in a sing-song tune, finding a way to fidget with every part of his body. "My tears are my sins, my sins, my sins...Andraste guide me, guide me…

"Lysas," he said suddenly. "I saw you in Redcliffe…" They'd talked about mage rights or maybe the quality of Redcliffe ale. He couldn't remember. He'd met more people in the past few months than he ever had at the Rose in his whole life, and considering the perpetually revolving door of a brothel, that was saying something.

The man didn't reply except to continue his litany of words, a chant that meant little to Jethann and everything in the world to him. He used the handle of his dagger to bust the lock. Lysas didn't make a move to leave his cell, but Jethann figured it was still better than just leaving him there to rot.

They walked up stairs and through corridors, collecting supplies from various overturned pots and sodden sacks. Jethann wondered if there would ever be an end to the sacks.

Dorian claimed he knew how to get out of the dungeons, but Jethann decided about twenty minutes in after the third wrong turn that he was full of shit. Every cell looked the same as last and Jethann was soon utilizing a considerable amount of his patience in not snapping at the equally lost mage trailing behind him.

"I could have sworn it was this way," said Dorian, looking back behind him to the dark wet room they'd left into the dark wet room they were entering…except there actually was something different about this one. It was much more well-lit than the others, but Jethann wasn't sure he appreciated that, since all the light was radiating off huge chunks of red lyrium growing from the walls, ceiling and, it appeared, a woman in a cell.

When the woman, who Jethann recognized with horror as Grand Enchanter Fiona, spotted him, she let out a cry of surprise. She seemed much more miserable than before, and that was saying something. "You're alive! How? I saw you…disappear…into the rift."

Jethann gestured to the lyrium around her, so entwined with her it seemed to be growing from her lower half while her upper bits just avoided eye contact with him, preferring to cover her face with her arm as she took refuge in the wall. "What is all this? What happened to you?"

"Red lyrium," she replied, speaking the words more unhappily than a plague widow. "It's a disease. The longer you're near it…eventually…you become this. Then they mine your corpse for more."

There was something strangely entrancing about the gold lines that streaked the lyrium. Jethann found himself staring at them for a second longer, blinking suddenly and remembering where he was and the madness that was going on.

"Can you tell us the date?" asked Dorian. "It's very important."

"Scarily important," Jethann added. "As in, I'm scared this very moment."

"Harvestmere," she replied in a voice as strained as any pasta. "9:42 Dragon."

He kept his cool, or at least he thought he did, but hearing that they'd gone forward over a year in time was more than enough to knock the wind out of him, and that it did. Jethann could have done a lot of things with that year. He felt robbed. He also felt sick.

"Nine forty-two," said Dorian. "We've missed an entire year."

"So, what happened during the year?" he asked. "I'm sure we missed a year of stunning Orlesian fashion. And so much Antivan gossip to catch up on." If Dorian noticed how shaky his voice was, he didn't say anything.

"You must…beware," said Fiona. "Alexius…serves the Elder One. More powerful…than the Maker…no one…challenges him and lives."

"It's not hard to be more powerful than the Maker when his main philosophy is abandoning us to our fates," he replied. "Unless, of course, you believe that big theory that I'm the Herald of Andraste. Then he's…basically still abandoned us. Because the idea that I can run more than a brothel is ridiculous."

"They…did not speak that way of you in death," replied Fiona, and she looked up at him through sweat soaked bangs with something like hope. "They spoke of you…like you were an enemy…they were fortunate to be rid of."

"Oh, I see," he said. "They were kinder to my legacy when I dead than they were to me while I was alive. That's the way it goes, I guess. But thank you for your support, if that's what you were going for."

"We need to find the amulet Alexius used to get us here," said Dorian. "If it exists, I can use it to get us back to the exact spot where we began. Maybe."

Jethann's eyebrows instantly raised. "Wow, that's useful. I feel like you should have mentioned that before now. Like, I don't know, when I was very upset about this entire situation."

"I didn't know I might be able to pull this off then," said Dorian. "And forgive me for saying so, but you didn't seem like you needed lies."

"Thank you," said Jethann, surprised into replying without a hint of sarcasm. "Many people would have thought that was exactly what I needed. Thank you for knowing otherwise."

"Besides," said Dorian with that winning smile emerging from under his mustache. "I said maybe. It might turn us into paste."

"I'm sure we'll be the most fashionable paste you've ever seen," said Jethann.

"Please," said Fiona, her voice breaking with either emotion or the effects of red lyrium. "You have to go back. Your spymaster, Leliana…she is here. Find her. Quickly…before the Elder one…learns you are here. You have to fix this."

She turned her head completely away from him now, done with the conversation. He stood there, unsure what he should do. "You just want us to leave you here?"

"Do not waste the time it would take to kill me," came her reply.

"Okay," he said, and they left the room.

Jethann's supposedly waterproof boots were hopelessly soaked by now, but that was tragically low on his list of problems.

"I'm not so good at the whole comforting thing, but I wanted to make sure there was nothing I could do," said Dorian as they walked. When Jethann gave him a closer look he realized that Dorian didn't seem to have truly waterproof boots either. His normally perfect hair was a few stands out of place as well, just about as many as Jethann's own. Jethann wondered if Dorian was truly as thrilled as he'd thought he was when they'd arrived in this sodden prison.

Through a bunch more doors they went. Jethann didn't comment on Leliana's presence here, but it sure did have his heart racing. A year had passed. Fiona was behind bars, red lyrium growing from her waist. Lysas had gone from a harmless mage complaining in a bar to a mindless inmate. What would they find when they found Leliana, the Inquisition's spymaster, caught by some evil man? It didn't bode well, and that was an understatement.

Fortunately, he was distracted by the dulcet tones of a deep voice singing. He followed the sounds of 'three hundred bottles of beer on the wall' and found the prize at the end of the trail, the Iron Bull.

"You've looked better," said Jethann, breaking the lock as the Iron Bull turned around, radiating with the red lyrium sickness, so much so that his very skin glowed red.

"You haven't," said Iron Bull. "I guess your hair has looked nicer, but you look…alive. You're supposed to be dead. There was a burn on the ground and everything."

Jethann smoothed the back of his hand along his hairline, pressing his hair along his head in an attempt to straighten it into submission.

"Alexius didn't kill us," said Dorian, always eager to share information. "His spell sent us through time. This is our future."

"Well, it's my present. And in my _past_ , I definitely saw you both die."

"I'm here," said Jethann. "It doesn't matter who's what it is, we're here now. And we're going to do something about all this."

"And what exactly is all this?" Bull wasn't well. That was a way to put it. His voice had the same quality Fiona's did, like corruption had crept into his very essence.

"Fighting to get the world back to the way it was, or whatever," said Jethann.

"Or whatever?" said Dorian with a hint of amusement.

"Whatever meaning, well, whatever it takes," he said. "Bull, correct me if I'm wrong, but you're usually on board with these sorts of plans."

Bull walked out of the cell. "I can't let you do it on your own, Boss," he said. "No offense, but fighting isn't your strong suit."

"None taken," he replied.

"So what, are we going to go see what new tricks he's learned?"

"No," said Dorian. "If we find him, we might get to back to our own time to stop this before it all happened. Exciting, yes?"

"Alexius isn't the one you need to worry about. It's his Elder One. He killed the Empress of Orlais, and used the confusion to launch an attack in the south. The army was all demons. You ever fought a demon army? I don't recommend it."

"I can't imagine what's going on outside this castle," said Jethann.

"Maker forbid this place be one of the more pleasant places left in Thedas," said Dorian.

Bull snorted. "If you'd been here, Tevinter, you wouldn't be relying on the Maker for anything. Let's get moving. We're wasting time."

Bull was still in there, but Jethann had never heard that note of urgency in his voice before. It made him want to keep moving, to try and stop this bad world full of wet dungeons from ever happening.

When they found Cassandra, she wasn't much better off. The Chant had turned into her version of three hundred bottles of beer on the wall, although he'd never have told her that. He had a feeling that Cassandra wouldn't appreciate the comparison no matter what point in time they were in.

"For she who trusts in the Maker, fire is her water," are the words Jethann heard as he approached. He was upset to see her like this, with the same red lyrium marking her skin as the others, but he couldn't quite trace the source of the fire in his own blood.

"Cassandra," he said, the word heavy on his tongue. "I'm alive."

The difference in his tone must have been significant the way Bull's was to him, for the other two look at him in surprise. It wasn't them he was really paying attention to, though. His eyes were on the women in the cell.

"Jethann? You've returned to us. Can it be? Has Andraste given us another chance?"

Normally he would tell her that Andraste had nothing to do with his presence, that he was standing there because of his own flesh and blood effort, plus some temperamental magic, but he managed to keep his mouth shut. He used the energy that would have gone towards a smart comment to unlock and open her cell door instead.

"Make forgive me. I failed you. I failed everyone. The end must truly be near if the dead return to life." The resonance of her voice was wrong, bad, and his skin pricked on end just from hearing that darker undertone. He needed to get back to his own time, preferably now.

"I didn't die," he said. "I didn't try to just up and leave you and everyone else. It was the amulet. It sent us forward in time. We were never dead."

"No, I was there. He obliterated you with a gesture."

"Jethann speaks the truth," said Dorian. "Not dead, just transported. We have a chance of returning to the present."

"You'd go back in time? Then…can you make it so none of this ever took place?"

"That's the plan," he said. "Don't have another one, so we better hope this one works well enough."

She hesitated, the pain clear as day on her face. "Alexius's master…after you died, we could not stop the Elder One from rising. Empress Celene was murdered. The army that swept in afterwards- it was a horde of demons. Nothing stopped them. Nothing."

"That sounds terrible," he said, the news almost too abstract and unreal for him to process. "I'm sorry I wasn't here."

"You're here now."

They began walking, Dorian and Bull did. Jethann slowed to match Cassandra's pace as they excited the dungeon and began the search for Alexius again. He wasn't sure what to see, only that he wanted to be near her.

She turned to him, illuminating the dark with her ruined red flesh. Her hand rose to his cheek, running a thumb over his makeup-coated skin. There was something so tender in her gaze that he stopped walking.

"It has been a year," she said. "A year where your absence was sorely missed. For many reasons."

He did not know what to say. This proximity to another person was more familiar to him than anything else in the world, a known fact of his existence, but not with Cassandra, never with Cassandra. He had not expected her to reach for him, not in this way, not in any.

"You are too kind," he said. "I left you alone for a year. You and the rest of Thedas." A responsibility easier said out loud than taken in.

"You never did give yourself enough credit. Fix things now, and there will be nothing but respect for you."

His hand covered hers, the touch gentle. "Is that why you do this now? Respect?"

Her hand dropped in reply, and she drew herself up, uncertain. "It has not been a year for you," she said. "You have had none of the lonely days, none of the pain. None of the…time to reflect."

"Are you saying you reflected on me?"

"I am not sure what I am saying. I should cease saying anything at all. Come, Dorian and the Iron Bull are waiting on us."

He followed her, a new set of emotions warring within him as he watching the strong armor she wore glint against the red straining to infect those around her. He had, at most, thought she tolerated him. Maybe liked him in the way that you like a younger and irritating brother who does nothing but get into trouble.

This Cassandra, the one of a year later, seemed to feel differently. He didn't know how that made him feel, so he filed back into the group without a word, silent until they found the Inquisition's Spymaster.

When they found her after several more minutes of searching through wet halls full of old pots, every other thought was put out of his head. They'd heard noises on their approach, a clear enough sign of what was to come, but even the cries of pain did not prepare him for the state of a woman who had only treated him with kindness.

Before he or the others were able to say a word or do anything more than let their mouths fall open, Leliana had dispatched of her tormenter, wrapping her legs around his neck and snapping it.

Jethann hurried to get the keys, fingers shaking as he unchained her from the ceiling. She was scarred, more scarred than he'd ever seen another person, but it was her eyes that unnerved him. Their depths, never shallow, were now filled with some emotion too dark for Jethann to fathom.

"You are alive," she said, voice grating against her vocal cords. Her mind was already working. There was no rest for Spymaster Leliana. Jethann's hands were still shaking.

When she was free of her chains he took a few nervous steps back. Not that he was afraid of her, exactly. More like…he was wary of what she could do.

He swallowed a couple of times before managing, "I haven't seen that trick before."

"Anger is stronger than any pain."

He could believe it. With her standing there with those scars and those eyes, he could believe almost anything.

"Do you have weapons?"

He nodded. He realized with a rush of shame, that he had tears in his eyes. He shifted his gaze up slightly, trying to avoid looking just at her, hoping she didn't see them.

"Good. The Magister is probably in his chambers." Her voice rasped so thickly now.

He tried to tell himself that if all went well, this wasn't his future. That he wouldn't have to look at Leliana and her hard eyes when they made it back to their world. Comforting himself with the theory of time travel, however, didn't really do much for him, since he found the concept of time travel to be as far from comforting as one could get.

Leliana broke her gaze with him and began rifling through a chest to find her things. Dorian took a step forward, mind preoccupied with the very thoughts Jethann liked to avoid.

"You're…not curious how we got here?" he asked, in a tone that made it clear he couldn't possibly understand how.

"No."

"Alexius sent us into the future. This— his victory, his Elder One, it was never meant to be."

Jethann wanted to say something, but he had no idea what. Nothing he thought of felt like enough. He was so used to coating his words with sarcasm that he'd almost forgot what a situation like this felt like. Not that he'd truly been in a situation like this before.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I'm sorry I wasn't there. I just want to fix things if we can."

"You have a hard job ahead of you," she replied. "But you will have my help."

There was nothing comforting about her except the words she said, not even the tone she spoke it in. The lighting was dim around them, barely enough to see the torture instruments on the tablets. He shivered at the glimpses of horror littered around him. He hated this place. He glanced up and saw a skeleton hanging from the ceiling.

Dorian forged ahead in the conversation. "If we get back to the present and stop Alexius, then we can—"

"Enough," snarled Leliana, forcefully enough to make Jethann flinch. Bull and Cassandra, who had been so silent thus far, took a step forward, as though to flank him. He appreciated it, even if it meant they could tell that his stomach was a ball of worry.

"This is all pretend to you," she continued. "Some future you hope will never exist. I suffered. The whole world suffered. It was real."

She turned away from him, but he reached a hand out to touch her shoulder. She tensed and he wildly worried if she had some horrible injury there he didn't know about. After a moment he remembered that it was your shoulders that were hurt when you hung from chains like she had been. It was too late to undo it, but his hand still sped back to his side.

"What is it?" she said sharply.

"I'm sorry the world suffered too."

Her expression softened ever so slightly, just for a moment, before a year's worth of torture came back to the forefront of her mind and brought the hardness that scarred her face more than anything else. And that, he thought, his eyes roving her features, was saying something.

"I believe you," she said.

He didn't know what she meant by that exactly, but he thought it was good. Hoped it was.

They started walking, Leliana leading the way. Bull made his way to Jethann and squeezed his shoulder, just like Jethann had done for Leliana. "We'll get through this," he said in that deep baritone of his. It felt wrong to let a person with corruption in their very pores to tell _him_ that he's going to be okay.

He nodded, thankful anyway.

"What happened while we were away?" asked Dorian as they walked, clearly trying to break some of the tension that kept the air thicker than the lyrium.

"Stop talking."

"I'm just asking for information." Jethann winced at the light tone Dorian was using. The woman was clearly not in the mood.

"No, you're talking to fill silence. Nothing happened that you want to hear."

Jethann couldn't really blame Dorian for the attempt as they filed after each other down endless stone passages, taking step after step towards an enemy who'd bested them once already.

After what felt like hours of searching for key fragments and fighting what Jethann, being the city prostitute they all knew him to be, viewed as a veritable army of demons, they finally found enough fragments to form a way past the huge door blocking them from freedom.

When he stuck the key in the door it began to glow. His hand shot back to his side, fingers wiggling in some instinctive attempt to stop some evil form of magic from infecting him. He felt foolish when he realized everyone was watching him, but no one said anything, not even Leliana. Her eyes bored harder than the others at all times.

They walked into the big room. Jethann was aware of the last time he did this; it felt like a few hours to him. But that was just to him and Dorian, for even the room itself had seen the passage of time, the walls no longer even pretending to be welcoming, all traces of the former Ferelden lords scrubbed clean. No one had bothered to replace the paintings that had all been stacked to rot in the rooms they had just been through; there was nothing on the walls now.

More interesting than the walls was the man who had desecrated them in the first place. Magister Alexius, a man who had apparently killed the world. He stood turned away from them, back towards the fire as they approached.

"A year later and the man still has appalling taste in fashion," muttered Jethann.

Iron Bull snorted. He was glad someone who appreciated his humor was with him.

Alexius didn't turn around the closer they got. Jethann wasn't sure what he was waiting for. Maybe a witty one-liner from him or something.

"Hey, mind giving us your amulet? You ruined the world, now it's our turn to fix it." He lived to please.

"I ruined it for a reason. For my country, for my son. But it means nothing."

His son. Jethann noticed Felix now, sitting at Alexius's side in the shadows. He couldn't see much of him, but still, something seemed very wrong. He didn't want to see more, but at the same time he didn't want to look away now.

"I knew you would appear again. Not that it would be now, but I knew I hadn't destroyed you. My final failure."

"Can you imagine living with that uncertainty?" said Jethann. "Wondering when and where good ol' Jethann is going to come out of the dark and strike with his daggers. Never thought I'd have people living in fear. Not sure how I feel about it."

"You don't give yourself enough credit," said Cassandra. "You never did."

'Can you blame me?' he wanted to ask, but he kept his mouth shut, eyes back on Alexius.

"Was it worth it?" asked Dorian, his mind on a different plane, his worries both with them and elsewhere. "Everything you did to the world? To yourself?"

"It doesn't matter. All we can do is wait for the end."

"You're full of shit," said Jethann, anger bubbling up. "You don't get to act all weepy, not after all you've done. You did this. You're the one who killed all these people. Honey, you don't get to whisper sorry on a throne of corpses."

Everyone looked at him in surprise. Maybe it was his tone. Maybe it was just the simple words he spoke. He didn't really care right then.

"It doesn't matter what you think of me," said Alexius, his tone defeated, his throat rasping the words. "The Elder One comes for you, for me, for us all."

Jethann had another hot reply readied on his lips when everyone's attention was drawn to something happening to the side of Alexius. It was Leliana. Jethann hadn't noticed her slip from the group, and by the gasps at his side, neither had Cassandra or the Iron Bull. She had grabbed Felix from where he sat, half obscured in the shadows, and pressed a knife to his neck.

The one thing Alexius cared about above all else, Jethann realized. He forced himself not to shout out, to tell her to let him go. He knew better than that. If Felix had to die for them to save the world, then Felix had to die.

"Felix," said Dorian, stepping forward with tenderness in his voice. That note was quickly replaced by a hard edge as he turned to Alexius. "Maker's Breath, Alexius, what have you done?"

"He would have died, Dorian. I saved him."

Jethann looked at the man under Leliana's blade. Thin skin stretched over bones that protruded too far from his face, his color pallid and sick.

"Please," said Alexius, face contorted in pain. "Don't hurt my son. I'll do anything."

"We don't have to hurt your son," said Jethann. "You've done it for us."

Alexius looked at him with a mixture of confusion and horror. His gaze quickly turned back to Leliana's iron gaze as she held the life of his son in her ruthless hands. "Let him go, and I swear you'll get what you want."

"I want the world back." she said, grinding every word between her teeth. Jethann had not clearly seen the scars that run like rivulets down her face until that moment. Maybe he just hadn't wanted to.

Her red rimmed eyes were fixed on Alexius as she slit Felix's throat. Jethann was not so immune to all of this yet that his stomach didn't flip as he watched the man fall to the ground and meet a death that Jethann knew was a long time coming.

"No," whispered Alexius. "No!"

The second no stopped Jethann's heart for a moment, a cry of anguish real enough that it pierced the part of him that wasn't treating Alexius as harshly as the man deserved, the part that understood why he might be so desperate. Maybe even the part of him that wondered what it would be like to have a father like that.

Alexius attacked then. Jethann didn't quite blame him. Not the same way he did for everything else they'd been through, at least. He couldn't understand time travel and Fade magic, but he could get a bereft father.

They defeated him despite his grief. Maybe because of it. Jethann wondered if that emotion welling inside the magister made him weaker or stronger. He didn't think it was his place to ask.

As Alexius lay dead on the floor, Dorian stood there, even his mustache turned down in light of the serious events. The image brought a smile to Jethann's face despite the circumstances, although it was quick to disappear.

"He wanted to die, didn't he? All those lies he told himself, the justifications…he lost Felix long ago. And he didn't even notice. Oh, Alexius…"

Dorian might be from Tevinter, but even Tevinters care about their loved ones.

"Nothing is worth the world. But I can see why some people might think their son is." The words were hard to get out with his own life flashing behind his eyes, but he did anyway. Dorian didn't know anything his life; none of them did except Leliana, and he would like to keep it that way. He doubted even Leliana knew it all.

"A kind thing to say, in a way," said Dorian. "Thank you for not using the opportunity to remind me how evil my country is."

Jethann was suddenly glad Bull was keeping as quiet as he was. "I know it comes as a surprise, but I can be sensitive. From time to time, anyway."

"Well, either way, I have the amulet," replied Dorian, sparing himself a last look at his dead mentor before standing back up. "I think it's the same one we made in Minrathous. That's a relief. Give me an hour to work out the spell he used and I should be able to open the rift."

"An hour?" said Leliana, bounding up with her bow. "That's impossible! You must go now."

Even as she said the words, Jethann felt something huge shake all around them. He reached out and grabbed the person nearest to him, causing both himself and Dorian to tumble to the ground. Cassandra helped him up with what might have actually been a chuckle.

"The Elder One," said Leliana.

"You have to get out of here," said Bull, voice low and rumbling in his chest.

Jethann noticed the look exchanged between Bull and Cassandra, a look he didn't quite like. It was echoed in Leliana's expression as well.

"We'll hold the outer door," said Bull. "When they get past us, it'll be your turn."

Jethann's eyes widened. "You're going to die for me? I can't let you do that!"

"Yes, you can," said Leliana, grabbing him by the front, shaking his mail hard enough that Cassandra stepped forward in concern. "You can and you will. You're going to do just that and then you're going to go back and time and fix the world. I have spent a year thinking you weak enough to die. Prove me wrong."

She let go of him. His cheeks were warm as he straightened his armor. It felt too light, too little for what they were about to face, whatever that even was. The Elder One; that meant nothing to him except for the urgency that had Leliana so agitated.

He looked at the Iron Bull and Cassandra. They were so worn and tired and full of corruption, but they were still people he was in charge of, and more importantly, people had had gotten drunk with. He wouldn't exactly say he trusted them, not yet, but the feeling he had was as close as he came anymore.

He wanted his Bull and Cassandra, the ones that were whole and living, so he nodded and swallowed and said, "I won't fail you."

They looked at him, these three people he was letting die for him, a Qunari, a Seeker, and a spymaster. He met their gazes, unsure of what to say. He didn't know what he _could_ possibly say in a moment like this. He wasn't meant to be a leader. They always had good end of the line speeches. He couldn't even be himself; no snappy comments were coming to him.

Bull and Leliana turned away, running towards the doors as they shook and groaned under the weight of an enemy Jethann did not want to meet. Cassandra stayed a moment longer, her sick red eyes trained on him.

"Either I will never have done this or we will both be dead," she muttered, crossing the distance between them and pressing her lips to his. They were hot and cracked against his, and he shut his eyes for a moment, the act of kissing so painfully familiar to him.

She pulled away. "I have had a long time to think about that, Jethann," she said. "A whole year. I hope the other me will give you the same consideration, even if I am not confined to my thoughts in a cell."

"The Maker be with you," said Jethann, a meaningless phrase in so many mouths, but he knew it would mean something to Cassandra, and he was right; he saw tears in her eyes as she turned to join the others.

The wait as Dorian figured out the spell was agonizing. Leliana was waiting at the door, murmuring to herself, bow drawn. Jethann did not know where to look; should he focus on the shaking doors, at the empty walls, at the bruised and battered Chantry sister, or at the mage beside him working to to save their lives? And what of the kiss? What was he supposed to think about that kiss? Did Cassandra…Cassandra, of all people! It had to have been the lyrium, the delirium of her deathly illness.

Except it hadn't sounded like that at all.

The doors burst open and the bodies of Bull and Cassandra were flung towards them. Jethann recoiled, horrified more than he'd thought he would be, mouth contorted in terror or fear or maybe just grief. Dorian was still working, and Jethann wondered what would happen if he really did need an hour to figure it all out, except he didn't really need to wonder. He could see it all for himself as Leliana shot arrow after arrow into the demon horde that approached.

Jethann felt helpless, but he still began to unsheathe his dagger to help Leliana as the horde began to win out. He didn't want this. He'd never signed up for any of this; a thought that had become repetitive by now, but had rarely been more apt than this moment, as he watched a demon army kill his allies and march on him.

"You move, and we all die!" said Dorian, his voice so loud it constituted a shout. Jethann hadn't even realized he'd taken several steps forward towards them, instinct driving him towards Leliana. He let Dorian's hand guide him back to his prior position.

There was a green portal now, or something like that, shimmering magic in the air that made Jethann's skin prick. He couldn't stop looking back towards Leliana's heroics as Dorian dragged him towards it, his senses screaming that he was only moving towards danger, not away. But when he looked at Leliana and saw what she was doing, and he looked back at the portal, he could not help but think it would be the lowest act of cowardice to back out now. Just because Knight-Commander Meredith had made sure every citizen of Kirkwall had at least the smallest seed of distrust for mages did not mean he would ruin the world.

As he stepped into the portal, he did not look back to see Leliana's death.

When they got out of the portal, Jethann staggered against the wall, barely listening to Alexius surrender to Dorian. He stared at the floor, so much less dismal than the matching floor he'd seen a year from the future only moments earlier— what a sentence! He'd been in the future. Something that had been holding him together long enough to fix the horrible mess they'd been in snapped, and he crumpled to the floor.

He only looked up when two pairs of unfamiliar legs marched into the room, preceded by many armored boots. No need to wonder about who was wearing those; soldiers. It was the other two sets he was curious about, and the feet were clothed in about as fancy wear as Jethann had ever seen on a Ferelden. This was enough to get him to look up, if not really focus on the newcomers for several long moments. He wasn't aware that he was shaking until he saw his own gloved hand. He wished he could rip the mark right out of it.

"Grand Enchanter, we'd like to discuss your abuse of our hospitality."

The voice was not pleasant. Oh, Jethann had a feeling it had the potential for it, but right now it was contorted with annoyance. That simple emotion was enough to make him feel grounded, at least for now.

He blinked when Fiona stepped forward. She was normal now, no lyrium seeping from her pores, no misery evident except for the lines at the corners of her eyes.

"Your majesties," she said, wringing her hands. She sounded nervous, almost scared. Her eyes were trained on the man in front of her, never looking away. There was something unusual in her stance, something that spoke to some emotion she couldn't express. He was curious despite himself.

Then the words registered with Jethann. Majesties. The outfits. The man and woman in front of him were the King and Queen of Ferelden. One of them had been a hero in the Blight or something, he remembered. He'd visited Kirkwall right before everything had gone to shit, but Jethann couldn't seem to remember either of their names.

They were both attractive, the Queen with her sharp features and tightly done blonde hair, eyes taking in everything around her. The man had the broad cheeks and wide jaw of any attractive village boy you might run into along a dirt road, but that only added to his charm. Together they were formidable.

He, however, did not like the way they were looking at the Grand Enchanter. Maybe it was having just seen her nearly dead, begging him to save the world. Maybe it was— no, actually, he was pretty sure that was it.

"When we offered your people sanctuary, we did not give them the right to oust people from their homes," said the woman, chin high.

"King Alistair, Queen Anora, I assure you, we never intended-"

"In light of your actions, good intentions are no longer enough."

Jethann found himself standing back up, arms crossing practically of their own accord.

"You and your followers have worn out their welcome. Leave Ferelden, or we'll be forced to make you leave."

Fiona opened her mouth, likely for a last pleading try at their consciences, but never got the chance. Jethann marched forward, not stopping until he stood between Fiona and the monarchs.

"Excuse me?" he said loudly.

"And who are you?" said the Queen, her already icy tone plunging into frigid temperatures.

He waved his left hand around. "The elf with the mark. The Herald of Andraste, as some like to call me. Personally, I'd use pissed off for a moniker. Who do you two think you are?"

The King's eyebrows rose comically. "What?"

"We're the rulers of the land you stand in," said Queen Anora, tone unchanged.

"And apparently you're idiots. Did either of you two take the time to ask anyone what's going on around here before butting in and ordering people around? You two really have some nerve." He really wasn't sure where all this fire was coming from, only that he was breathing it in spades.

"Your Worship," said Fiona. "They are right. I voluntarily agreed to the deal with Magister-"

"Because he used time travel magic bullshit! I didn't just pop out of a portal a year in the future and watch my friends die to have some rulers who don't know what's going on boss us around! And don't call me that!"

"What's this about time travel?" asked King Alistair, more amusement in his tone than anything.

"Ask the Magister we've kindly tied up for you. He's the one you should be yelling at, not the Grand Enchanter. She acted out of desperation, and she certainly didn't kick your Arl out of his house. Maybe you two should be asking why a woman who was supposedly under your protection felt like she had to turn to a Magister in the first place."

"Wait just a second," said Queen Anora, eyes blazing in contrast to her calm voice. "Are you accusing us—"

"He's got a point, don't you think?" said King Alistair. He was smiling at Jethann, which was good, because he had just become acutely aware that the royal guard had gotten a lot closer to him.

Jethann backed out of his proximity with the King and Queen, belatedly aware that he might have just made things very terrible. He wasn't sure how, especially with Alistair smiling, but an elf doesn't just march up to monarchs and yell at them, no matter who he may claim to be.

"I see his point," said Anora. "That does not make me want Fiona and her mages in Ferelden any more than before."

"I wouldn't feel comfortable banning them," said Alistair in reply. "At this point we are only adding to their problems. Teagan is upset, and for good reason, but let's pretend we haven't known him all our lives for a second, shall we?"

"They can join the Inquisition, if they want," said Jethann. "But just to be clear, you're not banning them, are you? No vicious ejection."

"No," said King Alistair. Anora sighed and echoed the sentiment.

Jethann looked over at Fiona. "What do you say? You'll have all the freedoms you want with us. I promise you that as an Agent of the Inquisition. And also as myself, but I'm not sure what my word brings."

"Heeey," said Alistair, leaning over slightly. "That reminds me, there are some rumors about you, is it true you slept with the Orlesian—"

"You'll have to keep wondering," he said with a wink, because it would really not do to antagonize them any further. "I don't think the Queen needs any more reason to dislike me, after all."

Anora looked almost affronted at this. Good, make her contrary nature force her to deny disliking him. She was really quite a striking woman. Alistair was a lucky man.

"Look at me," said Fiona. Jethann looked. They were of a similar height, both of them small for their race. She examined his features for a long moment. "You promise we won't be mistreated with the Inquisition? That I am not leading my people into a second terrible choice?"

"I promise," he said, because he had seen her miserable and dying against a wall, and he was sick of red lyrium and corruption of the soul, both of which he had seen in the blonde haired, blue eyed Knight-Commander-turned-statue.

Cassandra stepped forward. Jethann wished she wouldn't. Seeing here only brought back all the memories from that terrible other world, although the kiss hadn't been terrible, per say. Confusing. When he looked at this woman with her clear skin, hooded eyes and dashing scar, he couldn't imagine her ever wanting to kiss him. Oh, he was kissable, he knew _that_ ; but she was not that kind of woman. She wouldn't lower herself like that; there was no doubt that she saw sex as some ideal, some secret thing only lovers did. The other Cassandra must have truly been delirious to want a man who'd passed through so many hands in any capacity.

Fiona had been making her decision while Jethann thought about a version of the Seeker who stood in front of him, a version that had technically never existed.

"We will come with you freely," she said.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" said Cassandra, voice low enough that Fiona would not catch the words is she wasn't paying attention. Jethann was positive she was. "What if the rest of the Inquisition does not accept? And hundreds of mages, free and in our camp?"

"I'm sure," he said, trying to ignore how much better her voice sounded now that there was no lyrium dripping from it. "Oh, I've very sure. Welcome to the Inquisition, Fiona."

"Thank you," she said. "I have found that many common people are afraid of us. Thank you for seeing past that."

"Are you calling me common?" he said, pressing his hand to his chest in a gesture of fake shock.

She smiled and shook her head. Turning back to the monarchs, he saw that Alistair was doing the same.

"Things seem to have worked out here," said Alistair. "We'd best be going, Anora."

Anora broke out into a sudden smile. It did not stopper the intensity of her eyes, but it made her softer, somehow. "This has been quite the surprising day. While I can't say having my plans change around me is exactly pleasing, it has been interesting meeting someone who is willing to march up to the King and Queen of Ferelden and show them another side of the story. I hope we meet again, Herald of Andraste."

"Please," he said. "I only admit to that title when I'm trying to get my way. Call me Jethann."

"Then I hope we meet again, Jethann," she said. "I'm sure it will be interesting on behalf of both parties."

"Interesting doesn't always mean good," said Alistair with a grin. They began to walk away, the guards following them. He turned his shoulder so he could finish his thought while looking at Jethann. "Keep your eyes peeled!"

"What, is Anora going to assassinate me?" he said under his breath. What he had done was beginning to catch up to him, as well as the rest of the long and far too exciting day.

Cassandra looked at him, concerned. "We will talk about what has happened here," she said. "But not now. Are you well?"

"No," he said. "I need to sit down."

He needed the world's longest nap is what he needed. The castle flew into action around them as he found a box and perched on it. Fiona began gathering her mages as Agents of the Inquisition took Alexius away and searched the castle for anything of import— someone had to remind them that the castle pointedly belonged to Arl Teagan.

As this happened, Jethann leaned his head back on a pillar and watched, feeling not like a Herald or a time traveler, but a tired elf who just wanted to rest and not think about anything that had happened, least of all that, in another world, the woman standing beside him had kissed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews are very welcome


	12. Chapter Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, uh. Sorry about the delay. I had finals and then I started a new job over the summer, and time just got away from me. I definitely didn't mean for this to take so long to get updated, and I'll do my best not to let it happen again. I hope you enjoy this chapter! I don't believe there are any new warnings. Again, I'm really sorry about the delay, and I'm definitely appreciative of all of my readers. You're all great; I'm glad you enjoy my story, and I hope to hear from you.

"How much are you offering?"

"Offering? Sir, there's no way someone like you could afford to buy our establishment."

"Pretend my ears aren't pointed for a second. How much as you offering?"

The price was twice what it should have been. Jethann said so. In turn, the man implied that Jethann simply could not afford it.

Jethann looked in his coin purse. He had gotten his latest payment from the brothel in The Hinterlands and, combined with the first few, which he'd saved, plus his own personal money he'd scrounged from corpses and bags around Ferelden, plus what he'd saved from what the Inquisition had given him, he had more than the original offer. More money than he'd ever had in his life, times ten.

"I'll give you three quarters that," he said. "You'll never get a better offer for this shithole."

He was given the pleasure of watching the bordello owner debate over whether or not he hated elves so much he didn't want to turn a profit. Just as Jethann had expected, he picked the money. Jethann spent a fair amount of minutes doling out every single sovereign just to watch the man's eyes go wider and wider. A few minutes later Jethann had the deed to the property in his hand.

"You're really going for it then?" said Bull, who knew about the Inquisition's other bordello. As did they all, Jethann was fairly sure. "The Herald of Andraste and a monopolist of comfort houses?"

"Is that what you call them in the Qun?"

"No, we have other words. There are women dedicated to that purpose, but your culture of shame isn't there."

"Sounds lovely," said Jethann, leading Bull out of the brothel. "I bet they never have the kinds of customers who'd fall in love with you, either. In and out, quick and easy."

"You'd do well in the Qun."

"No, I wouldn't. I'm too smart-mouthed for that. They'd cut out my tongue like a mage in a week."

"They don't cut out mages' tongues, they—"

"Are you two planning to talk the finer points of the Qun all day, or are you going to tell me whether or not you got it or not?"

Jethann waved the deed in the dwarf's face, making Varric roll his eyes and jump back slightly. "Look at that! I'm the proud owner of The Bann's Release."

"Proud is a word to use," said Dorian. "Maybe not the word I would use, but _a_ word."

"I'm going to go back tomorrow," said Jethann. "Clean up the premises, make things better for the men and women there. This is something I can do as Herald, something real. I don't need Andraste's help in this."

"You think your purse would be as full if people didn't call you Your Worship all day?" said Varric.

"Fine, I'm taking advantage of Andraste then. However you want to spin it," he replied. "I'm going back to the inn now. The rest of you can do whatever you want for the day; a midwife told me it was going to rain later and I'm not about to go look for a druffalo when it's pouring."

The Iron Bull and Dorian said their goodbyes and left, off to enjoy the day in whatever manner suited them best. It was strange seeing these men obey him. Him, of all people. The owner of two brothels and the supposed savior of the Chantry.

Varric didn't leave. Jethann had half expected this.

"Let me guess," he said. "The storyteller wants to talk."

"Wanna get lunch?" was Varric's reply.

"You paying? I just spent a fair bit of coin."

"Your purse isn't even close to empty, but sure, I'll pay. I invited you, after all."

Jethann and Varric began walking back to the inn, the only real place to find a hot meal in Redcliffe. Everything else was sold in a cart, and while Jethann had great affection for those foods, he had a feeling Varric wanted the conversation more than the food.

The sound of people was good to hear. People yelling and bartering and chattering to each other, living their lives in a bustle no matter who was attacking who and what monarch was doing what. Sometimes people glanced at the rift in the sky, but more often than not they didn't. Normal people. It wasn't close to the size of Kirkwall, but it sure did make him miss it.

The inn was the same way, which was a bit funny since he hadn't been nostalgic in the brothel, not with its straw floors and boarded up windows, not when his time at the Rose had accustomed him to fancy draperies and clean carpet. No matter what had come after, his memories working there were fairly pleasant. Until the Chantry explosion.

So many had come out of that mess hating mages, and here Jethann was inviting hundreds of them to join him. Then again, none of the other Kirkwall citizens had found themselves branded with a mark that made him out to be the Herald of the Maker's wife. So there was that. He wondered if the Herald got any special perks with the Maker's wife, ones befitting the life he had come from. He chuckled at the thought, but figured even Varric might take offense if he shared it.

The loud chatter and cold mugs of frothing beer of the inn calmed both Jethann and Varric, and they took seats opposing each other in hard wooden chairs. No inn should have comfortable seating, in Jethann's opinion. It should be outlawed in all nations across Thedas. To eat at an inn was to shift at the hard wooden bars poking your backside. He chuckled at the innuendo at that thought too.

Jethann ordered one of the few things on the menu, a hearty stew he was sure was local to Ferelden. He wasn't normally so fond of things that settled heavy in your stomach, but he didn't think he would have much choice here. Varric ordered a plate that, by the name, Jethann expected to have a mountain of meat on it when it came.

When they were alone Jethann leaned back in the seat, crossing his arms. "I'm guessing you didn't want to come here simply to shoot the breeze."

"You use daggers, not a bow," said Varric. "You don't stand a chance against me in a shooting contest."

Jethann rolled his eyes. "You sound like the middle-aged bureaucrats that came to the Rose for stress relief."

"Make knows I could use some of that," said Varric. "But not the kind you specialized in."

Jethann's mouth fell open in pretend shock. "Just because I'm no longer practicing now doesn't mean I stop being skilled! You never know when it might come in handy."

"You think you'll need to turn to prostitution in the future, then? Even after all this?"

Varric's voice had dropped the teasing tone. Jethann sighed, looking down at the beer in his hands. "You never know."

"Sometimes we have to let go and move on and all that."

Jethann had a lot to say to that, sitting in a Redcliffe inn with makeup coated on his skin and the deed to a brothel newly in his possession. "Sure," was what he actually said, because he was trained to make people happy.

"You're just telling me what you want to hear."

"You want me to move on? I can't. No one would let me if I tried. What I used to do is ingrained in the memories of the people around me."

"I'm just saying you need to stop thinking we're going to dump you out on your ass at any second now, Jet."

"Oh, so it's us now? Remember those fun days when Cassandra dragged you to the Inquisition to question you?"

"It's us because whether or not they want to admit it, you're the big name. And I'm with you."

The dwarf's tone was open and honest, and Varric's eyes, trained on him, were kind. All the venom drained out of him. It felt good, better than he could put into words, to hear someone put their lot in with him. And when it was Varric, well, he wanted to trust that. He smiled, hoping it came across the way he wanted it to. "How am I supposed to trust that this isn't going to explode in my face?"

"I don't know. The same way people trust in the Maker."

"I'm not like that. I can't do that."

Their meals came. The stew had a surprisingly pleasant smell. Jethann could apply the adjective to the whole of Ferelden, really. Surprisingly pleasant. He swirled around the contents with a spoon and blew on the top, trying to cool it off.

"All of this is never going to work if you don't believe in the Inquisition."

"I guess I don't have a choice."

Varric fell silent at that, beginning on his meat-laden dish of questionable quality. Jethann knew he was right in one thing; he didn't have a choice. Even though he enjoyed the people he spent time with, even though he was glad to do good things for Thedas, he didn't feel like he could leave.

"I'm going to do something about that," said Varric, and if Jethann believed in anything, it was that Varric Tethras was going to try.

He smiled at the dwarf, red lips splitting in a grin. "The stew here is good."

"It's Ferelden. The stew is their cultural dish or something. I bet they even feed it to their dogs."

"I dare you to ask one," said Jethann with a laugh.

"No, thanks. I'm not that stupid."

They ate for a few short moments before Varric opened his mouth again. Jethann didn't mind; he was much that same way. Living in the Rose had been a life of endless chatter, the prostitutes only stopping their gossip to sleep and fuck.

"So," said Varric, leaning back in his seat. "How're you doing?"

Jethann shrugged and reached for his bowl. Varric slapped his hand away. "Answer me, will you?"

"Who do you think you are, my pimp?"

"I doubt you've had a pimp in your life. Not with your cushy job at the brothel."

Jethann couldn't help but laugh. "You know better than that, Varric Tethras. The Blooming Rose were the good years, but you don't just knock on the door of that joint. I put in some time on the streets."

"Were you one of the urchins who used to run circles around me, pretending they were adults?"

"There you go, thinking I'm half your age again," he said. "I'm not, Varric. I'm really not."

The room was hot, or at least it was to Jethann. He picked at his dish, glad Varric has stopped trying to get him to talk about things he didn't want to. A bard in the corner of the room was strumming at an instrument, humming along as she tuned it.

"So, Jet, how are you dealing with what happened at the castle?"

Or maybe Varric hadn't dropped the subject after all. Jethann let out an exaggerated sigh, one Varric responded with to with his own exaggerated roll of the eyes.

"Why are you asking, huh? Why does it matter?"

"Transparent. Usually your retorts are better."

"You didn't answer me."

"Because I care about you. You're like a walking, talking piece of Kirkwall, and I'd like to keep that alive and happy, if possible."

"So because we're from the same city you want me around, huh?"

"No," said Varric. "I want you alive because we used to play cards at The Hanged Man and because—you know, I think we've had this talk before. You're a good guy, Jethann, and I watch out for good guys."

Jethann ran a hand through his hair. "I don't want to think about the bullshit that went down at Redcliffe. I got the support for the Breach that everyone wanted and that's all that matters. I just…it's too much, Varric. I'd rather think about how to fix up that brothel, you know? I'd rather think about what I understand."

"I do know," said Varric smoothly. "But that won't make it all go away. From what I understand, what happened down there was pretty messed up."

Jethann leaned forward in his seat. "I saw them die, Varric. Leliana, Bull…Cassandra. Leliana was so— she'd been tortured. She was in so much pain. They all were. The world was ruined, all because I disappeared that day."

He ran his hands over his face, food all but forgotten. When his hands came away there was the light stain of his makeup. He'd have to go to the washroom to clean up after this conversation. Maybe he could throw up there too. "I matter, Varric. This means I can't just— the world can't just move on without me."

"Things wouldn't be the same without you, no," said Varric calmly.

Jethann shook his head. "And still you promised to find me a way out if I wanted it."

"Jethann, listen to me," said Varric. "The future you saw didn't happen. If you died in _that moment_ , the world goes to ruin. But you didn't. You're here now. That might be enough. No one can tell the future before they live it. We learned vital info from that whole mess. The Empress is going to be assassinated, and we can try to stop it. There's going to be a demon army. We know this because of you and Dorian. You should be proud."

"Proud?" he scoffed. "I'm not proud, I'm terrified."

"I said should be, not that you were."

The room wasn't hot anymore, it was stifling. Jethann could feel himself sweating, could feel the moisture on his upper lip. "It was awful, watching them die. I don't know any of them all that well, but I know them enough that I don't wanna see any of them like that, you know? They sacrificed themselves for me."

"I know, Jethann."

"I hate this."

"I know."

"You seem to know everything, don't you?"

"That's my job," chuckled Varric. "Except that most of the time I know just about nothing."

"The same goes for me," he said. "We can know nothing together."

Varric reached over and clapped Jethann on the shoulder. "You'll be okay. I know it's rough, though, so if you need anything, don't hesitate to find me."

Jethann made a noncommittal noise that might have been an okay.

"And if I could give you some advice?"

"Like I could stop you," was Jethann's reply.

"I know it's hard for you to open up. That the façade was part of your job for years. But maybe try? You might be surprised at the people you find at your side."

Jethann didn't know what to say. He said nothing instead. Varric stood up and left after paying, probably on his way to find someone else to give unwarranted advice to. Jethann looked back down at his stew, suddenly no longer in the mood for it. He looked around, resigned to people watching until it was too awkward not to leave.

"Is this seat taken?"

Jethann turned and saw the Grand Enchanter Fiona standing quite close to him. "Why hello there," he said, voice rising and falling in familiar cadences. "You're quite stunning at this distance."

"I have the feeling you would say that about me at any distance."

"I'm hurt. Are you calling me insincere?"

"No, just practiced," she replied with half a smile. "You never answered my question."

He made a wide sweep of his arm, gesturing to the whole of the room. "Sit down, my lady. I'll order you some fine brew from this fair establishment."

Fiona's smile grew from barely there to covering her whole face. He hadn't seen her grin so brightly before, and he was glad to be the one to put it there.

"Now I know you're false," she said as she sat across from him. "No one calls me a lady."

"I can't see why."

"You didn't know me when I was younger."

"I wish I had."

"You must have been good at your job."

"I was," he replied easily, signaling to the waitress to bring Fiona a mug of beer. "I was one of the best, but I was still thrown out on the street when disaster came. I can imagine you know a thing or two about that kind of treatment."

"And why is that?"

"Because you're both a mage and an elf. I'm only unlucky enough to have one of those hurdles to jump."

"You certainly aren't wrong," said Fiona with a sad little smile. "These last few weeks alone have been enough to prove that to me. Redcliffe was a disaster for my mages, but you have pulled it out of the gutter just in time."

"Give yourself more credit than that."

"These days I am not in the mood for giving myself much credit at all," said Fiona.

"Then I will do it for you. I was in Kirkwall when the Chantry exploded. I saw how people felt about mages. At times…well, I'm no saint. So I can only imagine what it was like for all of you. Give yourself some credit, Grand Enchanter."

She smiled. It felt good to make someone at least a little happier, even if it he couldn't shake himself of a dead future long enough to feel anything but a hard pit in his stomach.

"You are right about that much, at least," said Fiona, sipping at her newly arrived mug as she took it from the hands of the waitress. "My life has been long and fruitful in ways that I did not expect, but I am still only an elven mage in many peoples' eyes."

"Not in mine." It could have been taken as a flirt, but Jethann dropped his normal affectation for a moment, meeting her gaze. He was struck with the desire for her to know his seriousness.

"I believe that," said Fiona. "And I find it refreshing. I wonder if our pasts are so different."

"Did you have much of a life before the Circle, then?"

"No," she replied. "Did you have much of a life before you worked in that brothel?"

"No," he admitted, expression darkening, not due to morbid events of the recent past, but to those he tried so hard to keep suppressed at all costs. "No, I did not."

Fiona examined her gaze. "I seem to be upsetting you. We can change subjects, if you wish."

"I'm fine," said Jethann.

"You always seem to be fine."

It was not a new comment for Jethann, and he frowned. Time to change the subject. "I noticed you reacted rather strangely to the arrival of Ferelden's lovely monarchs. I'm curious, what was that about?"

The change in Fiona was remarkable; her features tightened as her cheer faded away. If Jethann didn't have quite the penchant for gossip he might have regretted having upset her so. As it was he put on a sympathetic mask.

"Did I say something wrong?" he added as an afterthought, waiting for Fiona's reaction.

Fiona nervously folded and unfolded her hands on the table. "No," she said eventually. "I just hadn't thought anyone had noticed. You are an astute man."

"Comes with the territory."

"Yes, I suppose it does."

"So…why that reaction?"

"You are quite the busybody. I suppose you learned that from your former profession too?"

"Absolutely. Or maybe I was just predisposed to it. Did you know the Chantry sometimes says that about prostitutes? That we're all just doomed to be immoral."

"Do they now? I thought all were supposed to be able to receive redemption."

"Well, that's what the Mother I fucked weekly liked to tell me. She felt rather guilty about what we did together, you see."

Fiona's expression turned thunderous. Jethann could suddenly see why she had the reputation she did. She looked like the kind of person who'd summon lightning from the sky to strike an unfortunate foe. Sexy, in some ways. Frightening in many others.

"I detest that kind of person," she said. "They just want to vindicate themselves. They do it to everyone. I had someone in my life, a long time ago, that said similar things to me. The positions are very different, but I know what it is like to have someone condemn you while they use you."

That phrasing was very particular, and Jethann wonder if she'd meant to imply what she had. Perhaps he was reading too much into it; with his background it was certainly possible. Still, Jethann thought something about Fiona's demeanor changed after she said it. He wasn't exactly sure how.

"You have to forgive me for prying," he said, returning to the previous subject. "I'm a very nosy man. Too nosy. It's really none of my business."

"No," she said. "It's not. But I like you, Jethann. I have rarely met a more honest young man."

"I'm not as young as you think I am."

"I'd wager you're right about that."

"I'm not as honest either."

"Oh, I don't know about that. I'm a pretty good judge of character by this point."

"Look at you, seeing right through me."

Jethann tapped his fingers on the table, waiting for her next witty reply. She was as good at banter was Varric was, and that was a hard standard to live up to. But she stopped playing the game. Jethann knew the moment she made the shift, saw the very second that her eyes darkened and her expression soured.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yes," she said. "Foolishly, I almost told you the truth about why I acted the fool in front of King Alistair. And…and Queen Anora, of course. I can't imagine why. We don't know either."

"Whores inspire confidence."

"Something mages do not."

"You don't have to tell me if you're not comfortable."

"I'm not. But it really would be nice for someone to know. I think I will tell you later, if circumstance allows."

"It would be my honor."

Fiona sighed, shooting him a regretful smile. "I'm afraid I must head off now. It's getting late, and I have many things to attend to. We must mobilize as quickly as possible."

"I'll be going with you, of course," said Jethann. "I have to be there when you and your mages reach Haven. Funny, that I have such influence."

"Not funny," said Fiona with a strange look in her eye. "Not prophetic either. Lucky. Lucky, and good for the people of Thedas. I hope you do not lose that quality."

She left, and Jethann sat wondering why people couldn't be bothered to give normal goodbyes. He had sat for about five minutes tops before another woman rapped on the hard wood of the table, drawing his attention.

"Cassandra," he said.

"Jethann."

She stared at him, eyes seeking something he wasn't sure if she was able to find. He didn't know whether or not he wanted her to do so. What would happen if she did?

She was a handsome woman. Jethann didn't mean that in the way that he might have back at The Blooming Rose, where he might have said it with a snicker and a roll of his eyes as the burly woman in question picked another woman for the night. He meant it because of the strength of her jawline and the hard light in her eyes, because of that scar that marked the length she went to win, because of the soft smile that he had seen break through her granite façade, even just once or twice. Embarrassing her wasn't what he meant; she blushed and complained and went through all the stages of humiliation, but that smile was different.

She wasn't smiling now, and he felt the fool for getting so distracted. "Yes, my lady?" he said, smirking.

"Why are you just sitting here with empty bowls of food?" she said. "Were you stood up?"

She said it so seriously that he almost missed the joke. He laughed. "You're cleverer than you look."

"Huh."

"You are, I mean it."

She crossed her arms. "That's not why I am here."

"Then why are you here?"

"Oh? You do not know?"

Jethann's smile slipped as he thought. When he realized, he felt heat start to rush his face. He calmed himself in time to stop himself from blushing, but his smile was definitely gone now.

"Ah," said Cassandra. "You realize now."

Jethann didn't know what to say.

"Do you not want my reading lessons anymore? Is that it?"

"No," he replied, looking everywhere but her. "That's not it. Your lessons have been very helpful."

"Then why have you been avoiding me, Jethann? Why have I seen neither hide nor hair of you in the past few days?"

He saw her die, blood-red lyrium leaking from her eyes like tears. He started to tell her this, but she was a Seeker. She was good at telling when people lied. It wasn't that, and he knew it. It was the press of those lips against his, the way she had looked at him with certainty. He saw the flicker of certainty in her eyes now, except it was definitely not directed at kissing him.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I saw a lot of things in that castle, Cassandra. I went through time. It was…it wasn't…I don't know what I'm supposed to do about that."

"So you avoid me in particular?"

"You don't know what I saw."

"It insults me either way. I did not go through time."

"No, you didn't. That's all me. All because of this terrible mark on my hand. All because I'm trapped here."

"I thought you were past this," said Cassandra, annoyance leaking into her tone.

Annoyance didn't leak into his own tone; it was a deluge, a torrent as his gates creaked and splintered. "I'm not going to be past this anytime soon. Sorry if my complaining is boring for you to hear."

"That's not what I meant."

"This is why I've been avoiding you," he said. "We go back to Haven, and then what? I do more of this? I go and risk my life more and feel like no one really cares and everything is a mess and I'm the one expected to fix it?"

"I care."

"I believe that. It doesn't help." How much did she care? The seed of doubt was sown, and his uncertainty increased.

Cassandra stared at him, clearing considering what to say next. Jethann waved his hand dismissively, standing so suddenly the chair creaked. He stuck his hands in his pockets, the chainmail so carefully crafted by the Haven blacksmith clinking. Here he was, in Ferelden, wearing armor. "Don't bother. I need some fresh air."

"I could come with you."

"By myself."

He was halfway across the room before pausing, looking back out of some emotion he didn't know how to identify. Maybe guilt, maybe something else. "I do still want reading lessons with you," he said. "I need to draft a reply to Serendipity. I just need some fresh air right now. You understand, right?"

Cassandra's expression softened. "Yes, I understand. Go do what you need to do. This is not an easy life, what we have thrust you into."

Jethann nodded slightly, eyes searching her expression. When he looked away he could still see her handsome, living face in his mind's eye.

He turned heads as he walked through Redcliffe's streets. He had done so even back in Kirkwall, with his bearing and the way he dressed; combined that with the armor and the mark, still glowing through the fabric he kept over it, he was enough to cause whispers wherever he went.

The little town was much like every little town, bigger than it appeared from a distance, tiny to those who had grown up in it. Comforting to him only for some misplaced sense of familiarity.

Finally, he found himself a back alley and settled down on a barrel in it, leaning his back up against the badly maintained wooden wall of a ramshackle tenement. He took a deep breath and was greeted with the cloying scents of overripe fruit, meat that had been left out too long, and the simple but distinctive scent of refuse. All of it was so familiar. This street could have been any back alley in Kirkwall.

Jethann found himself biting his lip, wishing he could wind back time. Ironic, really, considering he had just been fast-forwarded through it. It had felt wrong. It still felt wrong.

It didn't matter. No matter how much he hated everything that had gone on back there, Jethann couldn't spend his whole life thinking about it. They had died for him, yes, but that was in another world. It had all been another world, and it wasn't the one he was in now. He nodded slightly, lost in his thoughts. It had all happened in another plane of existence, that's what Dorian kept telling him, and he could help stop it from happening now; he could be one of the reasons the world he was currently standing in got to stick around in a not-ruined state. Not a bad idea, really.

He stood back up, brushing off the seat of his pants. The barrel was not exactly the cleanest place he'd sat that day, but that had only been part of the allure for him. The mages were heading back to Haven, and accompanying them did not seem like such a bad fate. Seeing Cullen's face when he caught sight of their new allies would be fun.

He was halfway back to the others when he thought of Cassandra's kiss. If he prevented the fate of what he had seen in that other world, would he prevent that kiss too? And did he want to? Jethann realized that, for once, he didn't have an answer to a matter of the heart. The thought was unsettling. Not for the first time, the thought crossed his mind that he wouldn't have liked to be in his place right now.


	13. Chapter Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the wait! I wasted the summer away and now that a new whirlwind of a semester has started, I figured I'd better post what I have before I get embroiled in it. I'm not sure when I'll post the next one, but I promise I will post it eventually. I don't give up on my stories. Anyway, hope you enjoy it!

There was no point in waiting, not now that they had the mages in tow.

That's what he'd told Leliana, Cullen, and Josephine when they'd arrived back in Haven, the snow-topped houses a comfort to his eyes. It was strange for him to think of Haven like that. He'd never thought he'd want to spend time in this place, but he supposed that it was a pretty okay little town after all. All it needed was a good brothel.

He'd attend to that after he got the Breach sealed. The Herald's calling, or whatever people were saying these days. All he knew is that cleaning up bad brothels and making them good ones with happier workers gave him a boost when he woke up in the morning, and he needed that boost for what the Inquisition had in store for him. He didn't even know what that was most of the time, which is precisely why he needed it.

He'd told them there was no point in waiting to seal that damned glowing hole in the sky, but he was beginning to regret that as he, Cassandra, Varric, and Sera walked towards the big crater where all that light came from. He'd last been here on that first horrible day, when that pride demon had erupted from the wall of magic and mysterious voices had revealed that he had not, in fact, killed the Divine.

It was still pretty terrible. There were less dead bodies though, so that was a plus.

When he looked down at his hand, he saw that it was glowing brighter than ever. He wouldn't be here without it, and for the first time he wondered if that wasn't wholly bad. Where would he be, after all? In less danger, certainly, but when he worked at the Rose he used to joke that danger was the spice of life.

He'd decide how he really felt after he closed the Breach. He'd wallowed enough as it was. He took a few tentative steps towards the big magical hellhole, and his companions spread out behind him, Cassandra, and Solas, who had come of his own accord, barking orders to the mages. He didn't listen to what she said; it didn't matter to him, as long as she was telling them to help him. He couldn't do this without them, after all.

The closer to the Breach he got, the more magical green tendrils appeared, pushing his thin body around on the cracked ground. He had to work hard to keep his feet firmly entrenched on the broken soul beneath him. Eventually it got so overwhelming that he had to cover his face with his left hand, the mark radiating its own green energy, his heart in his chest thumping wildly as he tried not to think about what was happening.

Behind Jethann, the mages stabbed their staffs into the ground, eyes squinted against the blinding light. Whatever they did, it made what Jethann was trying to do possible. The energy swirling around him turned from maliciously powerful to manageable, fixable like any other rift. And that's exactly what he was going to do.

He screwed his eyes shut and forced the power from his hand into that specific pattern that drew the rift shut, fixing the world with one concentrated thrust of his arm. The Herald of Andraste, they called him. They wouldn't stop after this.

The light that came after broke open the whole area with a flood of illumination, knocking Jethann to the ground with a cry of surprise. He shielded his face with his hand, and by the time he took it away there was nothing to be seen. No light, and more importantly, no Breach.

He was still kneeling when Cassandra walked over and helped him up, giving him the smallest of smiles as she said, "You did it."

That was when everyone began cheering. Jethann's eyes pricked with tears, but he blinked them away. He'd really done it. He'd closed the Breach. One glance at the sky showed a tormented sky, but this time with clouds, not any supernatural force. The world was back to normal. And he'd had a part in it. More than a part.

He walked back with Cassandra, Varric, and Sera, not talking much even as Sera and Varric bantered. He was glad he was behind the crowd; he loved people most of the time, loved interacting with them, but he wasn't really in the mood right then. He was glad Cassandra seemed to feel the same way.

It wasn't long before Haven was a giant party. Cassandra disappeared to attend to duties, while he sat on the outskirts and watched it. He couldn't help but smile as he watched people dance in the dark, no one bothering to heed the signs of the approaching rain. He had a feeling they would dance in the rain if they had to. He wondered if people were dancing in the rest of Thedas, or if people noticed the disappearance of the Breach with the same interest they watched a flock of sheep pass.

He was considering getting up and joining them when he felt a hand tap his shoulder. He turned his head and saw Varric above him. He patted the ground next to him. "Come on, big guy," he said. "Be my date for the night."

"How could I turn someone as pretty as you down?" said Varric with a chuckle.

"You couldn't," was his reply as he watched Varric sit and imitate his own cross-legged position. "That's why you're here."

"That's true. But I'm actually here for another reason, Jet."

"I charge double now. I closed the Breach, after all."

"That's not it," replied Varric with a snort. He pulled out a sheaf of papers from his jacket. "I have something for you."

Jethann took them and smoothed them out, staring at the parchment with uncomprehending eyes. "Varric, my friend, I can read, but not that well. These words don't make any sense."

"Ah, that would be because they're legal jargon," said Varric. "They don't make sense to most of the people who can read, to tell you the truth."

"So then," said Jethann, slightly amused. "What does it say?"

Varric was suddenly sheepish, broad shoulders moving up and down in a self-conscious shrug. "I thought it might be useful for you. Something to keep in mind as we move forward."

"That sounds very nice," said Jet. "But I have no idea what you're talking about."

Varric sighed slightly. "What, my confusing platitudes don't mean anything to you? How unbelievable!"

Jethann laughed. "Seriously, though, what's in the papers?"

"I bought a house for you," said Varric. "Sort of. I made a few down payments. It's paid off for the next year or two— I can't do more than that. I'm not as rich as most seem to think I am, but well, I wanted to give you a way out. These are the papers for it."

Jethann's eyes went wide. He looked down at the papers with new meaning, wondering what the delicate lettering was saying. If there really was a house in there.

Varric let out a wheeze of a laugh, rubbing his neck. "So, yeah. It's right outside Kirkwall, in one of those calm little villages. Close enough to get you to the city in an hour's walk, far enough that you won't be bombarded with attention no matter where you are. I mean, you're going to attract notice wherever you go now, but it'll be manageable. And I figure with the brothels, you can manage the payments."

Jethann, for once in his life, did not know what to say. Varric, thankfully, filled up the space with more words.

"I promised to give you a way out, Jet. This is it. You can leave at any second and have somewhere to go to, somewhere where you'll be about as safe as any of us get. Every step from here on out is a choice. Your choice."

Jethann wished his face was not caked in makeup, because if he cried, his tears would instantly ruin it. He run his fingers over the crinkled paper, feeling the ridges of where the someone's quill dug into it, making the letters that traveled all this way to take a weight off his shoulders.

"Thank you, Varric," he said, settling on those three words to communicate to the dwarf what this meant to him. "Maker, I had no idea when you told me you'd find a way out that you were going to do something like this. It's exactly what I need."

Varric shot him possibly the most awkward smile that Jethann had ever seen. "Glad I could help, kid. You've got enough on your mind without having the burden of being forced here as well. I've got a place in Lowtown if I ever want it…it didn't sit right with me that you were stuck."

Jethann wanted to ask what the house looked like, how big it was and how nice the neighborhood was, but he figured those were in the papers, and that was the perfect incentive to get him to pick up his pace on the whole reading thing.

"Thank you," he said. "This is the second best thing that's happened today, next to closing the Breach."

"I should have told you yesterday. I don't like being second best."

"Either way," said Jethann. "This is brilliant, Varric. You've come through on that promise."

Varric was ready to respond with another witty quip, but he was interrupted by the sound of harsh boots on soft snow. They looked up from their sitting positions to find Commander Cullen looming behind them. Jethann wondered if the man knew how threatening he was. He waved slightly. "Lost, big guy? Need directions to the armory?"

"I am not lost," replied Cullen, lips twisting into a frown. "I found the exact person I was looking for."

Jethann and Varric stared at him. The snow fell around all three of them, heedless of their confusion. It was comforting to know the weather was willing to perform no matter what was waiting for it.

"Well," said Varric finally, enunciating every vowel. "I guess I'll get going. I have so much revelry to get to, you see."

"Have fun with that," replied Jethann with a smirk, tucking the deed to the Kirkwall house deep in his jacket, safe from the weather and any prying eyes.

When Varric was safely out of earshot, Cullen awkwardly sat down next to Jet, clearing off snow from the cold ground to sit next to him. Jethann wondered if he was purposefully not sitting where Varric had.

"So," said Jethann. "Interested in a bit of fun, are you? Want to get busy to the sound of the Breach closing?"

"That," said Cullen laboriously. "Is not why I am here, and you know it."

Jethann shrugged. "I don't know a lot of things. That could be one of them."

Cullen completely ignored this, running a hand through his blonde hair. He seemed to be picking his words carefully. "I haven't congratulated you on your success with the Breach yet. You did a good job. Perhaps the mages were not the wrong choice after all."

"You say after I succeed," said Jethann, but his tone was mild. "Thank you, Commander. I wasn't sure if I could do it."

"And yet you did," said Cullen. "You have more merit than I gave you credit for. I apologize."

"You're not the only one," said Jethann, eyes focused on the party in front of him. Cullen was leaning closer in some instinctive attempt to bridge the gap between them, to get Jethann to give him more than perfunctory attention. He was a large man, and warm enough that Jethann could feel the heat. If he hadn't known better, he would feel safe with him nearby, the way he did when Bull, Cassandra, or Blackwall were around.

"I have come for more to congratulate you," admitted Cullen.

"I figured as much. Get to the point, Commander."

Cullen signed. "I have to ask. It is rather galling to realize that the Herald of Andraste, the rallying point of the entire Inquisition, hates you."

Jethann's eyebrows shot up. He hadn't expected that kind of bluntness. He'd do it courtesy and return it with his own honesty. "I don't hate you," he said. "I'm just uncomfortable when you're around. You make my skin crawl."

There was a long silence after that. "I…make your skin crawl?"

Jethann turned to him, eyes reflecting the light from his hand. "Yes. You do."

Cullen swallowed hard enough that Jethann could see his adam's apple bob. "Could you tell me why?"

Jethann smiled. It never hit his eyes. "I worked at The Blooming Rose, Cullen. The most popular venue for Templars, even if they couldn't really afford it. When they could, however, when they could they came in and tied me up and asked me to pretend I was a mage, to pretend I was some poor little apostate getting caught and punished by his master— by a Templar. Do you get what I'm trying to say here?"

"Yes," said Cullen. "Or…no. Somewhat."

Jethann was close enough now that he could see the fleck in his eyes and the ridges of the scar on his lip. "You were the head of those Templars. You and Meredith. If that's what the Templars fantasized about, then what were they doing to the mages? And you condoned it. I know what you thought of mages. Everyone did. Not even people, not like the rest of us. And people believed you. I did too, for a while, until my fake crying brought yet another Templar to orgasm. And here you are now, like nothing happened, like Kirkwall was some anomaly. If you actually talk to some mages, then you'll see it wasn't."

"Own up to your mistakes," he continued softly. "Help the people you hurt. Do what you can to help others, instead of trusting the people of your order above those you've abused. And above all else, do not ignore them."

Cullen did not reply. Jethann had nothing more to say. He sat back, watching people party. It was several minutes before Cullen opened his mouth. "I understand," was all he said before getting to his feet and leaving, his boots crunching on the snow as he left just as they had when he came.

What did Cullen understand? Jethann wondered that vaguely as the people continued their merriment. Could he ever really understand?

The answer to that question would have to be saved for another time. Cassandra was approaching him now, but before she could say anything, a bell began to ring. It took Jethann a long moment to figure out why, and when he did, his blood ran cold. Cullen moved into action fast, Jethann would give him credit for that; he was already running into the center of the dancing, yelling for everyone to go to arms.

Jethann had the sinking feeling that it was all going wrong, even if he didn't know how just quite yet. He stood there as Cassandra unsheathed her weapon and said harshly, "We must get to the gate!" Whatever she had come to say was completely forgotten, lost in the fear building up in Jethann's veins. He unsheathed his own daggers as Varric and Sera ran up to him, their own weapons at the ready and doubtlessly far more prepared to use them.

"I was in the middle of something!" complained Sera loudly. Her hair was askew; Jethann wondered who she'd been kissing.

"I think we all were," said Varric. "Let's stop complaining so we can get back to it, shall we?"

"Rude!" shouted Sera, but she followed all the same.

They ran to the gate, where Cullen met them. "One watchguard reporting," he told them. "There's a massive force, the bulk of it over the mountain." Jethann's earlier altercation with the man was forgotten by both of them, at least for the moment. There were more important things to worry about.

"Under what banner?" said Josephine, standing there in her gold dress and looking out of place in all the confusion. Jethann wasn't sure what banners had to do with anything, but she knew a lot more about this stuff than him.

"None," said Cullen.

"None?" repeated Josephine, obviously surprised.

Jethann decided he was done listening to them talk, as it meant nothing to him, and looked towards the wooden gates. It was shaking, a red light glowing under it. He squinted, staring at it, and was rewarded for his attention. A man's voice, or maybe a boy's, shouted, "I cannot come in unless you open!"

"Open the gates," said Jethann, unaware of the authority in his own tone. The gates were opened just as he asked, Jethann approaching them meanwhile. The sight outside was fairly exciting; a pile of corpses and one enemy soldier in his dying throes, with a man wearing a massive hat holding the blade that killed him. The hat was very ugly. Jethann did not know who this man was, but he did know he wanted to take the hat off of him.

"I'm Cole," said the man. Jethann thought he looked more like a boy, maybe in his last years of a being a teenager, but he couldn't be sure.

"Look up," said Jethann. "I can't see your face."

Cole seemed startled by this, but he did it anyway. They met eyes. There was something strange about this boy, although Jethann couldn't place what. He seemed unmemorable despite these circumstances. Like if Jethann turned his back, Cole would slide out of his memory like water.

"I came to warn you," continued Cole. "And to help!"

He closed the distance between himself and Jethann. Cole's clothes were ragged, most of them more patch than original fabric. Jethann couldn't help feel sorry for him.

"People are coming to hurt you. You probably already know…"

"What do you mean?" said Jethann. "A lot of people want to kill me."

"The Templars come to kill you," said Cole, his voice deeper and more serious, if possible, than before.

"Templars!" said Cullen in shock. He looked like he wanted to say more, but he did not. Maybe it was the words exchanged before this confusion, maybe not. Jethann was not a mind reader.

Cole continued like Cullen had not said anything, pale locks streaming from his hat down onto his pallid face. "The Red Templars went to the Elder One. You know him? He knows you.

You took his mages."

Cole stepped back, pointing over the mountain just as shapes became visible on it. Jethann felt a chill that had nothing to do with the cold. Over the mountain stood, from what Jethann could see, a Templar in black armor, but it was the creature next to him that really drew his attention. He was about two heads taller than the man he stood next to, and he was utterly inhuman. Human-centric the term might be, but it was definitely accurate. It was in the rough shape of a person, but it looked like it had some crystal growths on it, like it had been laid to rest and minerals had grown over it instead of dirt.

It walked forward, and Jethann realized it— he, maybe— was staring right at him. Maybe his initial opinion about this whole Herald of Andraste business had been right all along.

"He's very angry that you took his mages," said Cole.

There was a long silence where Jethann tried to think of a witty remark. Then he tried to think of something serious to say. Finally, he said, "What do we do?" It wasn't much, but he couldn't completely lose his cool. There were people watching him now.

"Haven is no fortress," said Cullen. "If we are to withstand this monster we must control the battle. Get out there and hit that force. Use everything you can."

Cullen turned from Jethann and his party and began shouting orders at the mages, mentioning a man named Samson. Jethann had heard that name before, he knew he had, and not just at the war table with the advisors. Now, however, was not the time to contemplate lost acquaintances, even if they were part of an army advancing against you.

Cullen was finishing up his speech, shouting, "For the Herald! For your lives! For all of us!" as he thrust his sword into the air. Jethann wondered how much of the part pertaining to him he meant.

That was the last wondering he did for some time. After that him and his party unstuck a trebuchet in a such a flurry of actions that Jethann's head would been spinning if he wasn't too busy for that. First they fired the trebuchet, then a dragon hit it with a ball of fire before flying off, and then he was running with the others to the gate. It would have been too much if he'd stopped at any time. There was some more with the trebuchets, and it getting stuck, and fighting, and then finally cheering. Then they were falling back, which, despite Jethann's limited fighting experience, he knew was never a good thing. The sight of a dragon—a dragon! —kept haunting his thoughts as he fought. He'd thought they had a chance until then, but not when there was a massive beast spewing fire above them at any moment, every moment. A dragon spelled disaster for them, and the decay it spread in its breath sent a chill down his spine that he could not identify if he wanted to.

When they reached the main village, half a dozen Red Templars lying dead in their path, they discovered that Haven was undergoing the quick process of becoming ruins. There was fire everywhere. Jethann's mind flashed back to Kirkwall, to the way everything had looked before the Rose had kicked him out. The fires, the damage, the injured cries. Maker, he was going to lose everything again.

He pushed the terrible thought away, if only because he could hear people screaming in pain and fear, and this time there might be something he could do to help them.

First was the blacksmith, Harritt. The others didn't understand his need to save his tools, but Jethann did—if his trade was still prostitution, he might risk it all to save the makeup kits he used to keep in his drawer at the Rose. He waved off the thanks he received in favor of running to the big wooden doors ahead, eager to get into the village proper.

Cullen was waiting for them at the doors, and Jethann wondered if, in another world, he might have been one of the citizens with faces he didn't know running through in fright. No, he couldn't think about that right then.

"Everyone back to the Chantry!" said Cullen, yelling several orders that amounted to 'run and hide.' Then he said something that was about as discomforting as anything could be in this situation. "At this point, just make them work for it."

If they were going to win, did that mean they were going to kill him? That had to be their goal. Jethann swallowed, but his introspection about his fate was interrupted by a bunch of Red Templars ready to answer his question for him.

He fought, and when he finished he was delighted to discover that they had saved Lysette, a pretty Templar woman he'd met some weeks ago, in the process. She wasn't so pretty at the moment, but then again, he doubted he was either. He shot her a grin before heading back up to the Chantry.

"Hey, Jet," said Varric suddenly. "I think someone's in there."

He pointed, and Jethann's gaze was drawn to a burning house. He searched for a point of entry, palms slick with sweat as he considered entering it. He could burn to death in there. He could get terrible scars that marred his face.

He'd climb the boxes, that's how he'd do it. Leaving Varric and the others to take care of the enemies that swelled around them, he clambered up several crates and boxes, plus one creaky old ladder, to get into the little hut from the top. He was glad it was small, because getting in meant jumping in.

When he did that, he found a familiar face lying in a pile of broken wood. The brawny blonde man was injured and clearly upset, his face turning up in anguish to see who'd come in. When he saw who it was, his expression became mixed with apprehension. Jethann couldn't help but smile, but not in the way he used to. "Ah, Seggrit," he said. "It's been a while."

The fire was hot around them, crackling ominously and flinging sparks in their direction, so Jethann quickly got to freeing the man and helping him up. There wasn't a moment of hesitation on his part, but Seggrit didn't seem to want to grab him to get to his feet.

"I'm not dirty," said Jethann. "And I'm harder to knock over than you think."

He did it, albeit reluctantly. Jethann knew he was thinking about the first time they'd met, when Seggrit had fucked Jethann against a stone wall in exchange for clothing. When he'd got around all of Haven telling what he'd done, and gotten Josephine in dire straits for it. Jethann really didn't care about any of that right then, not when a stray spark had found his hair and burned a strand away. He was getting out of this hut, and thankfully he was able to do it by kicking the door open.

"Quite a hero," said Varric with a tired grin. The tired part was alarming; Jethann had a feeling the night wasn't even close to over.

"Get to safety," Jethann told Seggrit. Seggrit didn't have to hear it twice, and ran towards the Chantry without reserve. Jethann wanted to do the same, but if Seggrit and Lysette had needed help, then he probably wasn't the only one.

It was with that mindset that he continued on, and it was how he managed to pull Flissa from her burning tavern and Minaeve from an exposition that killed the man who'd worked so hard to save Jethann, the apothecary Adan. The death put a hard lump in his throat, one that would come back and bother him more when he had time to think about it. After that it was the Threnn, the woman who'd helped him requisition makeup back in the beginning. That felt like so long ago with the flames dancing all around him, his daggers glinting in the dark as he fell into the unsteady rhythm that kept him alive just long enough for all the enemies to die.

The doors to the Chantry opened as they approached, a relief Jethann couldn't describe. All he knew was that it sent a warm feeling down his limbs, like an energizer even better than sex. He and the others ran in with the rest of the townspeople, as though this building would keep them safe for more than just a few minutes.

"Move! Keep going! The Chantry is your shelter!"

It was Roderick, on the verge of collapse. He'd said some cruel things about Jethann, but that didn't mean he'd wanted to see the man pressing his fingers to his robes so tightly that it looked like he was afraid his hand was going to fall off.

As they ran in, Cole appeared in the nick of time to make sure Roderick didn't fall. It was funny, how that young man had known to be there right then.

"He tried to stop a Templar," said Cole. "The blade went deep. He's going to die."

"What a charming boy," said Roderick, utilizing more humor than Jethann thought he possessed.

The wooden walls of the Chantry had never felt so safe. At the same time, Jethann knew it was an illusion. There was an army outside the walls, with only the time it took for it to get to their door for them to break it down.

Cullen came running up to him. A strange feeling, to have someone report to him, but it was about damn time he got used to it. He needed to start rolling with the punches; as it was, he was beginning to tire of his own uncertainty.

"Herald! Our position is not good. That dragon stole back any time you might have earned us. There has been no communication, no demands, only advance after advance," were Cullen's words to him. Not comforting.

"I've seen an Archdemon," said the boy, squatting next to Roderick now. "I was in the Fade, but it looked like that."

"I don't care what it looks like, it's cut a path through our army. They'll kill everyone in Haven."

"The Elder One doesn't care about the village. He only wants the Herald."

"Everyone wants a piece of me these days," said Jethann. "This Elder One most of all, it seems." The sheaf of papers Varric had given him only earlier that night (it felt like forever ago now!) shifted against his chest. He could run, could escape all the way back to Kirkwall if he wanted. "If the Elder One will leave all of you alone just for my attention, then he can have me."

"It's not your attention he wants," said Cole ominously. "And he won't stop once he has you. He wants to kill you, but he'll crush others, kill them anyway. I don't like him."

"Are you saying I don't leave people satisfied?" said Jethann with the most half-hearted wink of his life. It was wasted on Cole anyway; he just stared at Jethann like he'd grown a second head.

Cullen ignored Jethann's words, blustering over what Cole had said. "You don't like—"

"He doesn't like him," said Jethann, repeating Cole's words with a smile. "You know, Cole, I don't think I do either."

"Take this seriously!" said Cassandra, stepping forward. "Maker's breath, we're going to die if we don't do anything."

"Don't you think I know that?" said Jethann, whose fingers had just been burnt trying and failing to save Adan, the apothecary who'd saved his life, who was looking at Roderick, a man dying, as they spoke.

There was something in his tone that stilled Cassandra's words. She nodded stiffly. Jethann turned back to Cullen.

"Herald, there are no tactics to make this survivable. The only thing that slowed them was the avalanche."

"Then why don't we just cause another one?" said Jethann.

Cullen was too somber to chuckle, so Varric did it for him. Cullen responded with, "You took the words right out of my mouth."

"You'll bury Haven that way," said Cassandra.

"You'll bury the little people," said Sera.

"If any little people are left in there, they're going to die anyway," Jethann replied. "The people here are pledged to me, to the Inquisition. They'd understand."

Sera's eyes glinted at this, but she said nothing more on the matter. Jethann had a feeling it would come up later, though. Sera was not one to hide her feelings for long.

"We're dying anyway," said Cullen. "But we can decide how. Many don't get that choice."

Jethann stood there, realizing for the first time that they really were going to die. The chill of that had only just set in when Cole said, "Yes, that. Chancellor Roderick can help. He wants to say it before he dies."

"There is a path," said Roderick. His voice was strained with the effort of speaking despite his injury. "You wouldn't know it unless you made the Summer Pilgrimage, as I have. The people can escape. She must have shown me. Andraste must have shown me so I could tell you." His last few words faltered as he stood, trying to walk to Jethann but not managing to stand fully out of his seat.

"What's this about a path?" asked Jethann.

"All those at the Conclave dead, and to be the only one who remembers…I don't know, Herald. If this simple memory is enough to save us, this could be more than mere accident. You could be more."

Even Roderick was believing in him now. Jethann looked around, half expecting to see nugs fly.

"So we get the people down the path as I distract them with the trebuchet," said Jethann, sighing slightly. "Well, it's a good as a plan as any." Being the Herald meant, he was realizing, that he was the one who had to sacrifice himself. He liked being a faceless peasant more; it meant that he could flee and no one would look twice.

"Are you sure about this?" said Cassandra. "What of your escape?"

"Oh, you know me," he replied breezily. "I'll find a way out of it." He was lying and they all knew it. Cullen nodded, although Jethann could see in the set of his jaw that he did not believe him either.

Jethann turned back to Roderick and was compelled to place a hand on the man's cheek. It was still soft enough to look out of place next to the man's aging skin; the ointments he'd been given for scars had been working, even if they didn't remove his callouses.

"You're giving us a chance to live. Thank you," he said, leaning forward and kissing his forehead. His makeup left a soft mark on Roderick's skin, but he didn't seem to mind. He only nodded, eyes wide.

"If you were meant for this…if the Inquisition was meant for this, I pray for you," was Roderick's reply.

Then everything sprang into action again. Cullen began issuing orders, and Cole helped Roderick to his feet so he could spend his last energy saving what lives he could. Cassandra, Varric, and Sera crowded around him. He wished he was brave enough to tell them to save themselves, but he wasn't. That would make his odds plummet to certain death, and he wasn't ready for that. He couldn't do this without a sliver of hope.

Cullen approached him again, for what might be the last time, giving him instructions on what to do with the trebuchet. "If we are to have a chance, if you are to have a chance, let that thing hear you," he finished.

"I'm very good at being noticed," he said, and then Cullen was gone.

After that they were out back into the fray, back into fighting Red Templars until his limbs ached and his fingers cracked at the edges of his daggers. He was injured more than once only to have potions pour healing into his veins, keeping him on his feet long enough to keep going. It was a feeling he was both new to and not new to, something he was so accustomed to now that he didn't like the strange feeling of understanding what it was like to keep blades in his hands. He was still no expert in them, definitely not, but he knew enough now to keep himself alive long enough for someone else to come in on his behalf. Once and a while he came in on someone else's. As far as he could tell, that was the point of having other people with you in battle. He rather liked it.

They came in shifts, these Templars with glittering red growths on their limbs, each time more monstrous than the last. Only when he danced with a Behemoth, a Templar with flesh distorted in ways he could not name, nor describe the way it made his throat feel foul, was he finally able to destroy it, and that was what mattered. He left bloodstains on the trebuchet wheel, though, but he paid no heed to them. He couldn't remember if they were from his injuries of from the dead Templars, only that everything on his body burned. He realized that there were tears of pain tracking through the grime on his face long after they began, but he didn't bother to wipe them away, not when more could appear despite his efforts. He was glad when no one said anything about it to him.

The trebuchet fired, and with it came the dragon, just as they had wanted. Their plan felt foolish now that Jethann could see its rotten flesh up close. It brought death in turn, its black, bat-like wings flapping as it razed everything in sight. It breathed fire that Jethann didn't understand as they backed away, trying to distance themselves from an evil they had brought. Jethann thought of Sera, of Varric, of Cassandra. None of them deserved to die here with him. He didn't have time for anything else; the burst of crystal pink flame enveloped him, and he fell.


	14. Chapter Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay in the next chapter! I've been obscenely busy with college, and everything seems to be getting away from me. I don't have anymore more written for this fit, and this is the first time that's been the case since I posted this fic; however, I don't intend to stop this fic. I'm not going to rush it, either, though; in the past I've ruined good chapter fics by forcing myself to write it out when I didn't want to. I've put a lot of work into this story, and I want to do it justice. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter!

 

It only took a few moments for Jethann to open his eyes after the flame hit him. He'd rather have been unconscious. If everything had hurt before, it was nothing compared to the pain blossoming in his body now. Every bit of skin felt burnt or blistered, and that was only the skin that hadn't already had a hole in it.

When he gathered himself to clutch his head and begin to scramble up, he saw a figure approaching him out of the flames. Jethann was no master or books or genius of strategy, but he didn't need to be one to know that this was the Elder One that had been so obsessed with him. He hadn't known what to expect by that title, even if he'd seen his deeds in that terrible future that never happened. He'd know he was evil, but he hadn't known he would look like…this. Fear hammered away inside Jethann, not just in his chest, but at every part of his body until just moving became an exercise in bravery.

He was still half on the ground, his blades still in his hands even though they felt too heavy to be there, when the Elder One made his way over to him. And he had only just stood up, facing the creature— what was this horrible man, with a height surpassing a Qunari and a frame full of spikes and crystals?— when the dragon burst through behind him, teeth bared, bringing heat and death with it.

It approached him more than the Elder One did, and Jethann was forced to look at its sagging, rotting skin encasing its half visible skeleton, its jagged white teeth glinting as it roared at him. Tears came down his cheeks, not from pain now, but from fear. People talked about dragons, talked about how deadly they were, but there was nothing in Thedas, nothing at all, that could have prepared him for the size and stance of this creature. And past that, past the sheer terror that it inspired in Jethann, there was something…wrong. Tainted. Its skin was decaying even as it lived, its horns and teeth and claws all hiding its own wrongness as it rotted from the inside out.

And it was maybe ten feet from him. He back away, gaze fixed on it as it threw its head up and roared. The sound was deafening, a shrill screen combined with deep baritone that together made a sound unlike any, a noise that made him want to clamp his hands over his ears and sprint away.

"Enough," said a voice behind him. Jethann had almost forgotten about the Elder One when the dragon appeared. The dragon stopped its advance, and Jethann turned to face the more immediate threat, skin crawling as he thought about the creature still at his back.

"Pretender," said the man, if he was a man. "You toy with forces beyond your ken. No more."

"Why are you doing this?" he said, unsure whether he meant to him or to everyone counting on him in Haven. Maybe some combination of both.

"Mortals beg for truth they cannot have. It is beyond what you are—what I was. Know me. Know what you have pretended to be. Exalt the Elder One. The will that is Corypheus. You will kneel, as you have many times before, you pathetic whore."

Jethann felt something other than fear for the first time in the last few minutes. Anger as searing as the pain filled him. "I haven't pretended to be you! I'm not nearly as ugly, first of all, and if you think you're going to make me kneel by bullying me—"

The monster of a man put out a claw. "You will kneel, whether or not I have to break that pretty little face of yours to make you do it."

Jethann laughed, a high forced sound that didn't even convince himself. "I won't. I don't do that for anyone, not unless I want to."

He shouldn't have said it. He knew that the moment the words were out of his mouth just by the way the cracked, strange skin under Corypheus's skin tightened. He closed the space between them, grabbing Jethann by the throat and forcing him down with fingers tight enough to crush his windpipe. His fingers slapped at the hand around his throat, trying to pry them off, but Corypheus seemed to think this was as threatening as the buzzing of a fly. Slowly, laboriously, he forced Jethann down to his knees, pushing him until his skin was pressed into the hard dirt through his trousers, the rocks cutting through them and into his flesh. Finally, that terrible grip let up. Jethann gasped for air, coughing and wheezing.

"Not only were my plans ruined, but they were ruined by a whore," said Corypheus, every word a dagger in Jethann. "I came for the Anchor. The process of removing it begins now." He had some sort of glowing orb in his hand. Jethann could barely see it from his position, but he didn't like the looks of it. He tried to stand back up. Another mistake. A crack of that clawed hand sent him sprawling on the ground.

"Is kneeling not enough for you?" said Corypheus. He thrust out his hand again, and the mark began glowing, quivering in his palm, sending jolts of pain throughout his arm and causing him to cry out in misery and pain. "It is your fault, whore," continued Corypheus. "You interrupted a ritual years in the planning, and instead of dying you stole its purpose."

Cracks ran the course of his hand. He clutched it, trying to lessen the pain. He didn't know if Corypheus would let him get back to his knees. A second later he hated himself for thinking he should cower beneath his man, and he pushed himself back up. The crack to his face Corypheus gave him ensured he would not be getting up again. Pain blossomed anew, worse than anything he had felt before, and something in his jaw felt very wrong. When he tried to open his mouth, something clicked. He didn't have time to do more before a very heavy foot was on his back, stopping him from moving further. His insides felt squished, his spine like it was cracking. Everything burned worse than words could say.

"I do not know how you survived," said Corypheus, continuing on, heedless of the state he had put Jethann in. "But what marks you was touched, what you flail at rifts I crafted to assault the very heavens. And you used the Anchor to undo my work. The gall."

"I didn't ask for it!" he screamed, throat hoarse as his jaw cracked and protested at every movement. Something wet was trickling down his lips. Talking was a huge mistake, but he kept doing it, anything to make this end. "Take it, if you really want it!"

"I am," said Corypheus. He picked Jethann up so roughly that something went wrong in his shoulder too, causing searing pain to wrack him as Corypheus lifted him. The man was so tall, so large. A monster on all accounts. Corypheus was dangling him in the air so he would have to meet Corypheus's eyes. His feet were far from the ground.

"I once breached the Fade in the name of another. To serve the Old Gods of the empire in person. I found only chaos and corruption and dead whispers. For a thousand years I was confused. No more. I have gathered the will to return under no name but my own. To champion withered Tevinter and correct this Blighted world."

Jethann wanted him to stop. More than anything in the world he wanted him to stop and to let him go. He wanted the pain to end, even if that meant dying.

"Beg that I succeed," said Corypheus. "For I seen the throne of the Gods, and it was empty."

Then he threw Jethann. The pain of hitting the wall was nothing compared to the agony in his shoulder and jaw, and yet somehow his vision cleared quickly enough to grab a sword, heavy in hands so used to daggers. As Corypheus kept talking about the permanence of the Anchor and other things he never wanted to hear he saw out of the corner of his eye a working catapult. That's right. The catapults. He looked at the mountains and remembered the avalanche from earlier.

Even as Corypheus said that he must die, he ran to the catapult crank without a word. He didn't want to say anything sassy or funny or even brave and heroic right now. He just wanted to live, and for those in the village he cared about to live too. He kicked the crank and watched it sent a load straight into the mountain, starting exactly what he wanted to do; an avalanche.

He'd done that right in front of the monster and his dragon, too. They turned to look at the avalanche, and he did what every instinct in his body was telling him to do. He ran.

He ran and he ran, until finally he fell into a hole so dark he almost didn't notice himself pass out.

* * *

When Jethann woke up, he found himself laying flat on his back, in considerably more pain than any of the many other times he'd been in the same position. His jaw hurt no matter what he did, but if he tried to shift it, pain wracked his body so thoroughly his vision filled with spots. The same was true for his shoulder, and he had to grit his teeth to use his other hand to pull himself upright. Walking was even harder. If any part of him had somehow escaping injury from Corypheus, that had been rectified by the hard fall into…wherever he had fallen.

He looked around for the first time, taking in the cavern around him. There was snow around him, which meant the hole he'd fallen into had been there for some time. He was freezing, his mail all torn from the fight. He decided not to think about that; the more he did, the more he remembered how long it had gone on and how tired he was.

Jethann did the only thing he could. He started walking, feet shuffling on the stone steps in front of him. He followed the tunnel, his hand glowing bright enough to light his way. He saw nothing but cold stone and snow for many steps, but soon the walls started having wooden support beams holding up the tunnel. Both comforting and not at the same time; it was nice to know that people were keeping the tunnel up, but not so great to know it could potentially collapse around him. Had these supports been put up by his people—well, not his people, that wasn't how he should think of them—the Inquisition's people? Or had someone else done it before him? He remembered Cullen, Leliana, and Josephine talking about a cult that had lived here during the Blight. Cult or no, they may have saved his life with their work here.

Soon the ground beneath him turned into a wooden walkway, easier for his worn boots to step on, but he didn't stay happy long. Fade spirits appeared, ones he'd feel fairly confident about killing on a good day, but he had to fumble for the spare daggers Varric had practically forced him to carry, the metal heavy in his hands. He barely managed to dodge their attacks; once he only saved himself because he stumbled, his feet heavy blocks at the end of him. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the cold. He could do this. He hadn't come all this way to die, right?

He felt something tingling on his hand and he dropped a dagger in surprise. One of the spirits reached for a killing blow, so he thrust his palm into the air, hoping for…just hoping. The spirit recoiled as a ball of green light appeared above all of the remaining enemies, and when Jethann let it loose they all dissipated, leaving him alone, chest heaving, with nothing but the icicles.

That wasn't strictly true, and he realized that when he followed the path outside. He went from a cold but dry tunnel to the middle of a raging blizzard, and the liquid forming on his eyelids froze before the tears could fall. He stared out into the open air, wondering if the snow ever ended and if it was even worth it to walk out into it. Then he thought he saw something in the distance, and that was as good as a reason as any. He certainly didn't have any reason to stay where he was.

Jethann found himself in a daze as he began walking through the snow, shielding his face with his less-injured arm. The pain and the exhaustion were more than just getting to him— he was ready to keel over any second now. He found the remains of a fire, still warm enough for him to duck close to it, not caring as some of the embers flew in his direction. Earlier fire had been the destruction of everything he'd worked for. Now he was just trying not to let the cold kill him.

He found the strength to stand, and after that he managed to convince himself to take a step, and then another. And then he was just walking into a blizzard, no idea where he was going, but that was okay as long as it took him far, far away from that Corypheus with his deep voice and powerful throw.

He walked and he walked. His face felt frozen, so cold to the touch that he wondered if it was going to start falling off in bits and pieces. There were pine trees at his sides, but he didn't think they would be any warmer to be under, so he kept going. The storm around him never ceased. At least he had his hand; that never stopped glowing; it was as reliable and ever-present as the snow around him. There was nothing to do but keep walking, even though his boots were too worn to keep any snow out.

He kept it up until he made it to another empty fire and the vastness of the world was narrowed down by a large group of big rocks and stones, enough of them to make him wonder about shelter even through the exhaustion. Shelter or no, he wasn't going to make it much longer. In fact, he thought the snow was becoming rather inviting. He began wondering if he could count snow as a pillow. He wasn't warm, but he wasn't very cold either. His body burned from something other than heat. Pain, maybe. He was so tired of pain. He was just so…tired.

"There! It's him!"

"Thank the Maker!"

Jethann knew that voice. Trusted that voice, even if he couldn't place who it was. Sounded female, but the only person he trusted was Varric. Varric wasn't a woman. That didn't make sense. Then again, who was he to judge? He didn't know Varric's life story.

No, wait. Cassandra. Jethann trusted her too. She rounded the corner just as he collapsed, his body deciding the snow was indeed like a pillow, if pillows hurt when your body made contact with them.

When Jethann woke, it was to the dulcet tones of people arguing. He kept his eyes shut, pretending that it was the girls arguing at the Rose for a few fleeting moments. But he wasn't there anymore, and he never would be again. Even if he did run, his life wouldn't go back to what it had been.

He was still in pain, but it was duller now. He sat up cautiously, even as his whole body protested. He wanted to stay in the blankets forever, to just curl up in that spot and sleep until spring came, but he couldn't, not at least while the arguing continued. There was a sling for his shoulder, but he wasn't sure how long he'd need it, not when he could feel the magic spreading through his bones.

He glanced over and was surprised to see Mother Giselle next to him, her clothes a little torn but otherwise no worse for wear. If she was here, did that meant they'd all made it? He looked over and realized who was arguing; Cullen, Josephine, Leliana, and Cassandra. From what he could make out, it was about the Inquisition. About how far they'd fallen, and if they'd be able to get back up.

"Shhhh," said Giselle. "You need to rest."

Jethann wasn't sure why he was being shushed, as he hadn't said anything, but he never knew with that woman. He sat on the cot, sighing as his aches settled in. "Am I okay?" he asked. "Is everyone okay?"

"Yes is the answer to your first question," said Giselle. "Albeit you did not come back to us in perfect condition. And no is the answer to the second. The grace of the Maker did not extend to everyone in Haven."

"How many?"

"More than anyone would like, but less than one would expect."

Jethann realized he was able to speak, and moved his hand to his jaw. "I was healed while I was out?"

"If you hadn't been, you would be dead."

"Thank the mage that did it for me, please," said Jethann. "I'm sure they've had a busy night."

"You're lucky to have been out for so much of it," said Giselle.

Jethann realized he was shivering and drew his blankets around him, staring out of the open tent he was under. They had a camp, wherever they were, which meant Corypheus wasn't pursuing them. Thank the Maker for small mercies. The snow wasn't coming down anymore, either. The blizzard had finally ended, and with it, the ruin of Haven was complete.

He chuckled a bit. How melodramatic of him. He glanced at Giselle. "You know," he said. "I wouldn't consider myself to have been very lucky, considering the events of the past few hours."

"This is true," said Giselle. "I have no intention of downplaying those events."

"Even though you don't like me?" he replied conversationally, winking just in case she looked over to see it.

The woman pressed her hands together, frowning slightly. "How did you get that impression?"

"You don't have to lie. I know I put a lot of people off." Jethann wondered if that was really the most effective strategy when you were an agent of the Inquisition, but it was too late to start thinking about changing his personality now. He'd have to go far, far back in time to do that, back before the Rose, even before his father had that accident.

"I will confess that in the beginning I wondered if a man like you could carry such a weight on your shoulders," said Giselle. "But I have learned that my doubt was a personal sin, brought on by prejudices I did not think I had."

"I would have doubted me too."

A part of him wished it was still snowing. Then he would have had something to look at other than their little tents, an island in a huge sea of settled snow. The stars twinkled above them, the moons shining just enough light down for Jethann to keep gazing out and up. If he wanted, if he felt up to it, he could get up and leave Giselle in order to find a better stargazing spot. He'd never had that kind of freedom in Kirkwall. The buildings had been too high and the fumes of the factories had prevented him from ever really seeing the great array of stars in the night sky. He'd been too busy to even think of anything beyond the doors of the Rose. He hadn't even visited his brother, let alone thought of seeing the sky. This wasn't all bad. He'd exchanged freedom of being beholden to no one for this, even if he couldn't exactly put into words what _this_ was.

The papers Varric had given him had made it through the terrible fight, kept safe where they were folded against his chest. He had an escape, if he wanted it. But he wasn't going to go abandoning the Inquisition, not now.

"How are you feeling?" asked Giselle.

Jethann sighed slightly. "Bad. But I'll get better. What are we going to do?"

Giselle's eyes fell back on the arguing foursome standing a little way away. "That's not up to me."

"They've been at it for hours."

"They have that luxury thanks to you. The enemy could not follow, and with time to doubt, we turn to blame. Infighting may threaten as much as this Corypheus."

"Because of me?" said Jethann in surprise. "All I did was escape."

Her accent was more soothing than he'd given her credit for the first time they'd met. He had a feeling they were both reassessing the other.

"The avalanche that last trebuchet fired brought blocked their advance. You saved us."

Being called the Herald of Andraste was one thing, but actually having done something to merit it was another. He flopped back down on his cot.

"They're still going at it," he said, lacing his fingers behind his neck and propping himself up a bit. The four were indeed still arguing.

"They argue and struggle because of what we survivors witnessed," said Giselle. "We saw our defender stand, and fall. And now we have seen him return. The more the enemy is beyond us, the more miraculous your actions appear, and the more our trials seem ordained. That is hard to accept, no? What we have been called to endure? What we, perhaps, must come to believe?"

"You all think I died back there?" asked Jethann, who found the notion laughable. And yet he wasn't laughing.

"People saw what they saw, or perhaps what they needed to see."

Jethann let out a long breath. He could see it in the air, a haze for a brief moment before disappearing. He sat back up so he could wrap the blanket around himself. It was so cold here. He hoped there were enough blankets to go around. He wondered what Recruit Whittle would say about the state of their camp.

"Is it hard for them to accept or for me to?" he asked jokingly, mouth curved in a self-deprecating smile.

Giselle regarded him as seriously as ever. "Why not both?"

Another haggard breath, another puff visible in the chilled air. "You really think this is all wrapped up in the Maker? That he's the one pulling the strings?"

"Faith is what we need now."

"That's not an answer."

"If you had asked me this question a few days ago…nay, a few hours ago, I would have had to give a different answer. I was beginning to doubt you," said Giselle, confessing with a brutal tone that Jethann had to respect. "There was rumor in Haven that you planned to welcome prostitutes with open arms, to make the Inquisition an order of vagabonds and low-lifes. But after Corpyheus? Yes. Yes, I believe in the Maker's intervention through you."

This woman was so painfully earnest that the chill Jethann felt was not from the air now. "And what if I said I was planning to welcome prostitutes and thieves and all sorts of ruffians?"

"I would say that the Maker has chosen you as a shock to those who hold power and a reminder to the rest of us. Prostitutes are as worthy as everyone else. I realize now that I was not living what I preached."

"Few do," said Jethann.

"I try," said Giselle, and Jethann believed her.

Jethann sighed for what felt like the millionth time that night. "If we really do have the Maker on our side, I wish He'd do a little more to show it."

"An understandable wish," said Mother Giselle. "But unfortunately that is not how faith works."

She was sounding like a traditional Chantry Mother again, like the kind that scorned him and his people as a child. He stood up and walked away, rubbing his stiff limbs. He was beginning to like her; he wasn't going to stick around and wait for her to change that.

As he walked out of the little tent area, he realized that no one was arguing anymore. Instead, awkward silence permeated the area. He resisted the temptation to crack a bawdy joke. Jethann had a feeling that wouldn't go over well with this crowd. They were too downtrodden, shivering bodies focused on their work, work that meant the difference between life and death for their ragtag bunch. As Jethann stood there, he realized they knew what they were doing just as much as he did.

He stepped forward, ready to initiate another argument if it meant even an inch of progress. Maybe that was why Mother Giselle did what she did. Jethann couldn't say. He was doubting his ability to read people more than he ever had before.

Someone in their little group had picked up an instrument, maybe at the Chantry Mother's request, and was strumming a tune that would be almost unnoticeable if not for Giselle walking towards them in her long Chantry robes. She was singing.

"Shadows fall and hope has fled," were the first words out of her mouth. "Steel your heart, the dawn will come."

Jethann didn't have to wonder why she was singing. She was singing for the Inquisition, for their injured and broken people ripped away from a place they had begun to see as home. She was singing for him, Jethann, the prostitute who had been ripped away from his own home, even if it had been before fate thrust him into a world where his worth fluctuated with the rising of the sun. At any other moment than now he might have laughed, but he couldn't bring himself to.

Leliana was looking up now. Jethann spotted her eyes in the dark, almost luminescent enough to be an elf's.

"The night is long and the path is dark," continued Giselle. "Look to the sky for one day soon the dawn will come."

Everyone was looking. Cassandra, Cullen, Josephine. Others too, half-submerged in the shadows of their tents.

When Giselle began singing the next line, Leliana was singing with her. "The shepherd's lost and his home is far. Keep to the stars, the dawn will come."

The people were coming out of their tents now to sing with them. Jethann had never heard the song before. It wasn't the kind of thing sung to elven children in an Alienage, but he felt himself wishing it had been.

"The night is long, and the path is long. Look to the sky for one day soon the dawn will come."

While they sang, Jethann found himself wiping a tear or two from the corners of his eyes. There could be many reasons for that. He'd been so terrified during the fight with Corypheus that he'd shed involuntary tears for the first time since he was a child, and it could be some leftover trauma from that. It could just be exhaustion, months of running and fighting catching up with him. Or it could be that, as they sang, the people of the Inquisition were getting on one knee for him. Some of them took longer than others, their mouths moving with the words but no sound coming out, their disloyalty a remnant of the distrust for his past, but they were far outnumbered by the people who kneeled with blind devotion, their faces shining with earnest belief.

"Bare your blade and raise it high. Stand your ground, the dawn will come. The night is long and the path is dark, look to the sky for once day soon the dawn will come."

Jethann looked away from the mass of kneeling people and saw, out of the corner of his eye, Cole failing to find a pulse for Chancellor Roderick. He stopped trying to wipe the tears away then, although he could not have told a soul why he did.

"An army needs more than an enemy," said Giselle finally. Jethann wiped his face quickly, realizing that everyone had seen him shed tears, something that he desperately tried to avoid doing at all costs. It felt like baring his soul, and he never wanted anyone to see that much of him. He caught Cassandra's glance and looked away quickly. Not even her.

The crowd began to clear, leaving Jethann standing there as people stood and went back to huddling in their tents. Jethann could tell that things were different. They had hope now, more than ever before. In him. He would do his best to not disappoint them. What else could he do? They were counting on him.

Solas approached him, speaking so softly that Jethann jumped when he approached. He hadn't realized the elf was there, and looking at him so reproachfully that Solas took a step back.

"I apologize if I surprised you," said Solas. "I should have considered what you've been through."

Jethann spared a look at his sling and smiled at Solas for the first time in a while. "You wouldn't be the first to forget. My jaw still hurts, but considered how it felt before, I'm pretty grateful for you mages."

"Us mages have benefitted from your generosity," replied Solas calmly. The man seemed like he belonged in this place, his back straight and his eyes searching the area for some threat the rest of them couldn't see. Whatever it was, it couldn't be much worse than Corypheus.

"I didn't mean it like that," said Jethann. "But you're right. I don't like it much when someone uses 'us elves' either. Do you know which mage helped me? I'd like to thank them."

Solas smiled slightly, a return of Jethann's earlier one. "I do. I think they'll appreciate being thanked."

There was a pause before Solas added, "That's not why I came, however. May I have a word?"

He walked away then, turning and taking careful strides that took him far enough from the camp that no one would hear the words they exchanged.

"Not planning to murder me out here, right?" said Jethann with a smirk on his face. A joke for something he'd often worried about in Kirkwall. All the workers at the Rose had, even if they didn't admit it between their raunchy stories.

"Of course not," was Solas's reply. Jethann couldn't tell if he was amused or annoyed, if either.

When they'd gone so far that the camp was just spots of light in the distance, Solas finally spotted. The air was so much colder out there without the fires and the bodies keeping it warm, and Jethann shivered. "I'm not completely healed, you know," he said. "I'm not sure if all this walking is good for me."

Solas lit a lamp. "We have much walking ahead of us if we plan to rebuild the Inquisition."

"But we don't have to do it right now."

"What I have to say to you is no laughing matter, and there would be dangers if my words were overheard."

Jethann stopped complaining, finally noticing the way that Solas's mouth with drawn tight, accentuated by the shadows brought by the blue light he had created. He was tense, strung up so tightly that it seemed like the slightly prick would make him snap and release untold energy. None of it was too surprising when Haven was still smoldering behind them.

"The orb Corypheus carried…" began Solas. "The power he used against you…it is elven. Corypheus used the orb to open the Breach. Unlocking it much have caused the explosion that destroyed the Conclave. I do not yet know how Corypheus survived, nor am I certain how people will react when they learn of the orb's origin."

It was a lot to process after a very long day, but Jethann was quicker than many gave him credit for. "They'll blame us like they always do," he said. "They'll twist it into anti-elven propaganda. But the joke's on them."

"This is not a joking matter."

"They need me," said Jethann. "An elf. That's all I'm trying to say, Solas."

The other elf seemed distracted, like he was powering through his speech, trying to get out every word in him before his fidgeting form found itself walking away.

Solas sighed. "Of course. You're pointing out that elves may be an easy target, but that they cannot fully demonize us. My apologies."

If this would any other time, Jethann would definitely be laughing at how obvious what Solas had just said was, that, yes, that was indeed his point, thanks for summing it up for him, big boy. He didn't. After all, Solas had apologized. He wasn't going to kick a gift horse in the mouth, or however that expression went.

"There are steps that we can take to prevent such a distraction," said Solas, pulling himself back to his point.

"Distraction? I don't call that a distraction."

"Ah…yes. A bad word choice."

Solas then squared his shoulders and returned to the words he had obviously prepared. "By attacking the Inquisition, Corypheus has changed it. Changed you. Scout to the north. Be their guide. There is a place that waits for a force to hold it. There is a place where the Inquisiton can build and grow."

Jethann listened to what to Solas had to say. You had to give him credit for that any time of day, let alone in the middle of the night after a self-claimed god had destroyed his base and tried to kill him, but he did it regardless. He had to admit, that sounded like a pretty sweet deal. He'd bring it to the others for sure; the next day. He was more tired than he'd ever been.

After he and Solas finished talking, he walked back to a tent, different from the open one he'd been resting in earlier, and made himself a nest of blankets. He then promptly slept like the dead, which he had very nearly been. If it didn't bother him then, it would in the long days to come.

* * *

Thanks for reading! Reviews are, as fifteen-year-old me would have said, love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews, as my fifteen-year-old self would have said, are love.


	15. Chapter Fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My list of excuses this time: I didn't get less busy, and while I wrote this over my break, I was delayed in posting this because I am now studying abroad in the UK. You might be groaning and thinking "she won't write another chapter for six months!" and while that's not an impossibility, I really want to write the next chapter (much) sooner than later, as I'm excited to have finally hit the point the story has. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the chapter!

Jethann wasn't sure about this whole being-everyone's-guide thing that Solas was on about, not when it took him half an hour to even find north on a compass. He couldn't speak for anyone else, but their weeks spent traveling to Solas's claimed new home did not go quickly. Firstly, they spent a couple days arguing in their little camp, deciding which way to go. Josephine had initially wanted to find refuge with a court, but that would ally them too closely with any one nation. Cullen wanted to go back to Haven and rebuild it, but they all knew that Corypheus could still be there, and he could come back at any time before they were ready. Haven had not been meant to be permanent, and Cullen conceded that point before long. Leliana wanted to murder some people, although Jethann wasn't sure to what point. She had one, but no one quite followed it. Cassandra had no plan, but she did enough angry grunting and sighing to make up for it.

Solas's plan won out. Jethann could have told them that it was going to, but they had decided not to listen until they'd exhausted every other possibility. And they said time was sensitive! Jethann was getting the feeling that it was anything but.

But the getting there…Jethann was not a fan. Day after day of traveling in the snow with only the food they managed to hunt was not his idea of a good time. He complained to Varric and Varric only, though, as it was no one's idea of a fun time, and he had no intention of making everyone think of him as a whiner who didn't care about them when he was, in fact, a whiner who did care.

Still, even though his boots might not have existed for all the good they'd done him, even though he rolled his eyes every time another sprinkling of snow heralded a new snowstorm, even though he spent his evenings rubbing out sore feet, he couldn't help but stare at the castle that Solas led them to. Of all the things he'd expected, this wasn't one of them.

"This whole castle, all to myself?"

"No," said Solas. "We'll be there too."

"If you must," was Jethann's reply.

It wasn't easy to mask what he felt as he looked down at that castle. No, that wasn't the right word for it. Fortress. Small city. New start. _Large_ city. The way it looked made him feel like it was created from the hills themselves, not built from new stone but carved out of the craggy mountains, every block of hard rock chipped away at until this fortress stood, waiting for Jethann and the Inquisition at his back.

He couldn't help it. He smiled.

* * *

At first, nothing changed. When they made it to the mountain fortress—only accessible from a single bridge crossing a huge chasm—the Inquisition's first action was to set everything down and go about making sure they were allowed to be there, while the quartermasters, seneschals, and other administrators of the Inquisition went about making sure that everyone had somewhere to sleep where they weren't tripping over each other. Josephine was the leader of these, and it wasn't until she received word from both Orlais and Ferelden that this place didn't belong to anyone, that they really began to move in.

Jethann filled these days with a mixture of being useful and making himself as scarce as possible, something, as contradictory as it sounded, he often managed to do at the same time. It was quite simple; blend in and help some other elves move boxes or assist some workers with cleaning out the untouched rooms of the fortress. When he wasn't doing that, he was playing cards with Varric and Bull, or talking with the three, plus Cassandra, that he'd affectionately begun mentally referring to as the Advisors about the state of their new home and the Inquisition. The Inquisition's prognosis? Not deathly ill, anymore, which was nice.

He knew, after a week or so, that it wouldn't last. He was more surprised by the realization that he didn't want the temporary anonymity, brought about by necessity and a set of common clothes, as much as he thought he would. He itched to _do_ something, and when, after walking out of the fortress to blend in among a few former Alienage elves who'd arrived the day before, Cassandra beckoned him over, he found himself glad. How times changed.

He was a little more concerned when the others parted like water, leaving him along with Cassandra. Not that he hadn't been alone with Cassandra plenty; he was still getting reading lessons from her, after all. Still, it was hard to put the past behind him, even if it was from a future that had never really happened. It made it all the worse that Cassandra had no idea about it, as it made any strange behavior on his part impossible to explain.

Oh well. There were more important things to worry about now that they had relocated to the fortress Solas called Skyhold and that they knew a terrible darkspawn of some sort was out for their blood. Even the beauty of the trees around them (especially after the snows they'd trekked through to get there) were tempered by the fear that Corypheus could pop out under any rock and smite them all. At least, Jethann assumed other people had that fear. He'd feel silly if he was the only one.

"They arrive daily from every settlement in the region," said Cassandra. Jethann looked around to see what she was talking about, instead of at the combination of armor and regular clothing that Cassandra combined to make her present outfit, which was more aesthetically pleasing than Jethann would have given her credit for being capable of. He wondered if it was on purpose or not, and if he was being uncharitable in thinking probably not. Who knew? Maybe Cassandra had many sides to her that he hadn't seen. Most people did, after all.

When he looked around, however, he knew what she meant. New people were constantly streaming into Skyhold, buffeting their defenses and building their civilian forces. Even thinking in such military terms gave Jethann the shivers. Right now the new faces were all from local areas, but it wouldn't be long before they came from all over Orlais and Ferelden. If this lasted.

"Skyhold's becoming a pilgrimage," continued Cassandra. She walked backward for a moment, her eyes locked with his face. He was about to comment on the strangeness of the position before she turned and began to walk normally, Jethann following her as she kept speaking. "If word has reached these people, it will have reached the Elder One. We have the walls and numbers to put up a fight here, but this threat is far beyond the war we anticipated."

They were walking up steps now. Jethann appreciated the feel of the warm air on his face as they did so, its presence a constant reminder of how glad he was to get out of the frigid mountain air. Haven had been okay, but the year-round snow had gotten old, and it cheered Jethann that he'd be coming back to green grass and trees bristling with leaves after a mission.

"But we now know what allowed you to stand against Corypheus. What drew him to you."

"The Mark, you mean?" said Jethann. "Or the Anchor. That's what he called it."

"The Anchor has power, but that's not why you're standing here." Cassandra's expression softened, and it was then that Jethann realized that she'd been rehearsing this speech to herself. She'd been pretty good in her recitation of it so far, so good that he hadn't realized that it was pre-planned until now. That was saying something, at least as far as his own belief in his own ability to read faces and intentions went.

Cassandra was walking faster now. "Your decisions let us heal the sky. Your determination brought us out of Haven. You are the creature's rival because of what _you_ did— and we know it. All of us."

There were lots of steps. Jethann wasn't an idiot, and he knew she was leading him up somewhere high, somewhere were, perhaps, a lot of people could be addressed. He could feel his face warming up. That combined with her words? He wasn't sure what was happening, but he could tell it was big.

"Cassandra," he asked. "What are you saying? What're you saying, really?"

"The Inquisition requires a leader." She paused, taking a moment to stray from her script. "Jethann, you have already been leading it. We have been taking your orders without realizing it, and you have shaped us—often in ways many did not expect, and sometimes in ways many did not like—without us even realizing in the moment. I know I have not always been your staunchest supporter, but I believe this is the right move. You once told me that the Inquisition cannot hide who their Herald is, but had to embrace you for all of you, including your past. I can think of no better way to show our support than this."

Jethann's mouth was open in shock, although he didn't remember opening it in the first place. "Wait? This is for real?" He could see Leliana standing to his side, holding a big ceremonial sword. That was answer enough. "Cassandra, I only just recently accepted that I was ready to be a part of the Inquisition in general, but to lead it? I'm not ashamed of who I am, but that's completely different than leading an entire group of people!"

Leliana raised her head slightly. "You will not be alone. You will have help."

His nickname of the Advisors really was apt, he realized. That he'd already named them that internally only proved Leliana and Cassandra's point. "You want this, both of us? Josephine, too? And…And Cullen?"

"The Commander was not ecstatic," said Cassandra, a smile playing about her lips. "But he said that you had inner strength enough to play the part."

"I wouldn't _play_ with any part of it," said Jethann. "Having advisors is one thing, but being an actor is another."

Leliana was smiling now too. "Only a turn of phrase. You sound ready to accept."

"You two are lucky I've spent so much time coming to terms with the Inquisition recently," said Jethann. "Not just the Inquisition itself, but what I'm willing to do for it." And to use it for, in some ways. He was still no devoted servant of the Maker, but he would wield peoples' faith to enact some good. He'd change the minds he could and make the world a little less uptight, both when it came to things that happened behind closed doors and things that didn't. It already seemed to be working on Cassandra. Maker, he was already thinking like the Inquisitor they wanted him to be.

"You're right," said Cassandra. Her tone was serious now. "We are lucky. I more than the rest, for you had to convince me of more than you did many others. I would look at the world with a narrower view without you."

Jethann couldn't help but smile. "Are you saying you approve of my brothels now?"

Cassandra took a deep breath. He felt a little bad; the tic at her temple told him that he was taking advantage of her good will. "I…understand the need for them. But please, the people are waiting for you."

"Still," said Jethann softly, betraying a part of himself that he had tried to keep hidden more than anything else. Later, he would think on this moment and think of it as one of the few times he'd let a crack in his armor open so wide. At least it was only to Cassandra and Leliana (although the latter could do much with the information). "All this, to an elf, and one of my background?"

"I would be terrified to hand this power to anyone, but I believe it is the only way. They'll follow you. To them, being an elf shows how far you've risen. How it must have been by Andraste's hand. What it means to you, how you lead us, that is for you alone to decide."

Before now, the word Jethann would have used to describe his feelings about his involvement in the Inquisition was "reluctant." He wasn't sure what he would replace it with, but he can at least say he knows that that word no longer fit.

"Well," said Leliana. "Stop dallying, and get up there."

"If only I'd been told ahead of time," said Jethann. "So that maybe I'd have some time to think about it, and wouldn't keep everyone waiting for what's going to happen."

"If only," said Leliana. "Unfortunately, that was completely impossible. Up you go!"

He climbed the last few steps, grateful for the laughter to mask the butterflies in his stomach. "I feel like I'm at the world's biggest surprise party," he grumbled, but if Cassandra and Leliana heard, they didn't say anything.

Jethann looked at the sword that Leliana was offering to him. It glittered in the sunlight that pushed past the mountain peaks to land on this blade, with its golden dragon hilt. He thought of the giant and the dragon he'd seen battling on the Storm Coast when he saw it, and of the battle with the Blades of Hessarian that he'd undertaken because of it. He wasn't sure if the sword was just ceremonial, but considering its size, that's all it was destined to be. He took the sword; it was as heavy as it looked.

He turned to face the people below. Not everyone currently burrowing into the corners of Skyhold in the name of the Inquisition was present, but he would say that most of them were, all crammed into the courtyard together, faced turned up eagerly at the news. Did they already know what was happening, and were looking forward to it? Were they all just captured by the excitement of the moment, letting themselves be corralled into the courtyard by the very few who actually cared? Were they all just thinking about dinner and hoping he finished up whatever he had to say as soon as possible?

Regardless of what they were thinking, he was going to speak. Maybe being a leader was being self-centered enough to think that paying attention to you was the most important thing in peoples' lives.

Jethann raised his voice to "let the entire Blooming Rose know that the latest customer is actually two customers in a trenchcoat" levels to make sure everyone heard him. "I have been asked to lead, and I will. Someone must stand against Corypheus, and I will be that person—that elf and a former prostitute, as many people will try to forget. You are the people who will not forget, and for that, I thank you. I will try my best not to fail you, and I could not do it without you. The Inquisition is for all, and we stand for Thedas."

He stopped speaking, feeling like the biggest idiot who'd ever gotten in front of a group of people, but Cassandra was smiling when she stepped up next to him. "We will go where you lead us." She took another step forward, addressing Josephine, who stood in the audience below. "Have our people been told?"

"They have," said Josephine, stepping forward. He'd seen her smile many times before, but he didn't think he'd ever seen it so wide. "And soon, the world."

"Commander, will they follow?" crowed Cassandra, loud enough that Jethann wondered if Corypheus, wherever he was, could feel the echo reverberate around him.

Jethann hadn't spotted Cullen in the crowd until then, but now he was impossible to miss as he pushed his way to the front of the crowd and bellowed, "Inquisition! Will you follow?"

He would have waited with baited breath for the audience's response if they had given him time to; instead, they roared, and he knew the answer. It had all happened so fast. One second he was helping a couple newcomers fix up Skyhold and the next he was standing above the inhabitants of the whole fortress, pledging to lead them, and, amazingly, getting a positive response. He scanned the crowd and did find a few sullen faces, people who, for one reason or another, had not accepted him enough to get swept up in this excitement. He hoped that was normal; in this atmosphere, with praise for him on the wind, he was inclined to believe so. He lifted the sword into the air at Leliana's subtle nudging, and the cheering rebounded.

"Will you fight?" shouted Cullen.

The cheering continued. Jethann wouldn't have expected such a rousing of the people from Cullen, but here it was. The man sure could put on a good show. After all, he'd been doing it for years in Kirkwall.

"Will we triumph?"

The cheering, if possible, grew louder. Jethann realized he was smiling too, and not just some coy smile that he'd plastered on to trick his way into getting what he wanted. It was the kind of smile that had snuck up on him when he wasn't looking, and now he just couldn't seem to get rid of it.

"Be careful," said Leliana behind him, quietly enough that Cassandra didn't look over. "You don't want it to go to your head, now." The admonishment was gentle, but some of the elation faded. Would Leliana had said that to an Inquisitor with different origins?

"I know," said Jethann. "It's just nice to enjoy the moment."

"Of course," said Leliana. "But it is not wise to go seeking more."

"I'm going to ignore you now," said Jethann. "In favor of appreciating this one while it lasts, since you're so determined to be a buzzkill."

The attention was nice. It said a lot about how good he felt that he bounced back from Leliana's words, ones he wouldn't have expected from her; she'd always seemed to be on his side, so to speak.

"Your leader, your Herald, your Inquisitor!" was Cullen's final shout, unsheathing his own sword and pointing it towards the platform on which Jethann stood. If he'd been told a few years ago that Cullen Rutherford was going to point his sword at him, he would have said two things: first, he would have asked which sword, and second, he would have said that that could be by no means a good thing. How different things had become.

Jethann felt good. That had been rare before and after the Conclave, and he knew this feeling wouldn't have been possible without it. For better or for worse, his fortunes had been raised from that tragedy. The Anchor pulsed in his hand, beating to the rhythm of the cheers.

* * *

After the whole cheering-their-new-leader thing was done, Jethann had to forget the nice warm feelings it brought on and remember that, as the new leader of the Inquisition, he had to go and do things befitting his position. Namely, ordering people around. The weight that dropped onto his shoulders as the realization of his new responsibilities set in was twice that of before, and he briefly wondered if it wasn't too late to say never mind to this whole Inquisitor business. Unfortunately, he knew it was, and he followed the others into the main hall of Skyhold, which had remained untouched as the Inquisition had moved in. The others, except Cassandra; she disappeared once the cheering was over. Apparently she was not going to be one of those advising him in the coming…was it months? Surely not years. Years was a much longer term commitment than he was used to.

They opened the huge from doors to find…well, a mess. That's all Jethann could describe it as at first glance. There was old wood everywhere, and the stained glass windows were covered with dust and grime. The stone walls looked like they had seen nothing but scurrying mice for three times as long as Jethann had been living.

"Well," said Jethann, surveying it. "It could be worse."

"That's the spirit," said Leliana.

"So this is where it begins," said Cullen. For all that Cassandra and Leliana had said about him, and all that he had done in rousing the Inquisition to his leadership, Cullen stood the farthest from Jethann at all times and only addressed him when he talked to everyone. Jethann, for his part, returned the sentiment.

"It began in the courtyard," said Leliana. "This is where we turn that promise into action."

"But what do we do? We know nothing about this Corypheus except that he wanted your mark," said Josephine.

Jethann paused, waiting for someone to give her the answer. A beat passed before he realized he was the one they were waiting on. Some advisors they were. "Well, we know a little more than that. He wants to restore Tevinter, which implies that he himself is from Tevinter. So we're not starting with nothing. My bets are off on him attacking us directly again after the mess of Haven, at least for a while—we should get as much information on him as possible."

"Yes," said Josephine. "One must know their enemy, after all."

"And we do have an advantage," said Leliana. "We know what Corypheus is going to do next. In that strange future you experienced, Empress Celene had been assassinated."

"Imagine the chaos her death would cause," said Josephine. "With his army…"

"An army he'll bolster with a massive force of demons. Or so the future tells us," finished Cullen.

Jethann didn't struggle to keep track, but it certainly did not escape him that his new position was not an empty one. Without him, Thedas could fall. He didn't love everything about the world, but damn it, he lived in it. That was a lot of responsibility for anyone.

"Corypheus could conquer the entirety of southern Thedas, god or no god," said Josephine.

"I'd feel better if we knew more about what we were dealing with," said Leliana.

Jethann was about to open his mouth and respond, his thoughts swirling, when a new voice entered the conversation.

"I know someone who can help with that."

Jethann smiled at the sight of Varric, wearing a red, open-chested shirt with embroidery that glittered in the shafts of light from the door, as he walked in.

"Ah…everyone acting all inspirational jogged my memory, so I sent a message to an old friend. She's crossed paths with Corypheus before and may know more about what he's doing. She can help."

"Well, that solves one of our problems already," said Jethann. "We wanted information on Corypheus, and you've delivered someone who has it. Good on you, Varric."

"Don't get all blubbery on me on your first day on the job," replied Varric. "We need you in top shape."

"Blubbery? Is there some rumor going around that I tear up at random times? Of all the vile rumors going around about me, that one might be the worst."

"No, there isn't. Your reputation is safe," said Varric, smiling.

"From that at least," said Jethann. "When does this friend of yours get here?"

Varric looked around, which piqued his interest. "She's actually already here. Parading around might cause a fuss. It's better for you to meet privately. On the battlements. Trust me—

it's complicated."

When Jethann glanced around him, he saw that Leliana, Josephine, and Cullen were looking at each other in confusion. Then he and Leliana met eyes, and Jethann found himself smiling. She'd figured it out too.

"I'll see you at cards tonight?" said Varric, in a tone of voice that made it sound like he'd already suggested it to Jethann prior. "That is, if you haven't been worn out by the time night hits."

"It takes a lot to wear me out," said Jethann. Varric waved as he walked away; Jethann watched him go. It felt good, knowing Varric was his friend.

"If Varric has brought who I think he has," said Leliana as Varric left the room. "Cassandra is going to kill him."

Jethann couldn't help but laugh at that one. They talked for a little longer about their plans, about how quickly they could get Skyhold fixed up and what their approaches to learning more about Corypheus and taking their stand against his plans would be, before Jethann felt comfortable excusing himself. They'd only talked for a couple of hours, but he was exhausted. The sun was still going strong, which felt unfair; shouldn't the day tire when he did?

Then again, he was grateful it didn't. After all, it would be a pretty gloomy world if that was the case. He left the fortress's main hall and went back outside, unsure what to do with himself for a while. He had all these responsibilities now, but no way to alleviate them. He'd have preferred to have just gotten them all done at once, like ripping off a band-aid.

If that was the case, he knew where to go; the battlements. Jethann was already finding himself a hypocrite in the band-aid scenario, because instead he snagged an apple and found himself a seat away from the hustle and bustle of a group of people attempting to make an old fortress livable again. This ended up being behind a tree, where Jethann sat on a stump and crunched away the apple to his heart's delight.

He'd just reached the core when a voice close to his ear said, "Inquisitor!" Jethann wasn't proud of how high he jumped.

"Sera!" he said, turning to face her. "To what do I owe this pleasant surprise?"

"It is Inquisitor, then?" she said. "I like it. It's gonna give some bigwigs some big headaches. Ha, see what I did there? Big and big."

"I see," said Jethann. He looked around for somewhere that Sera could sit, but his stump was all on its own. Sera solved his problems by plopping down in the grass and wriggling about until she was comfortable and her knees were covered in grass stains.

"Remember that war we talked about stopping?" asked Sera, hands reaching to tug grass from their roots in the soil as if by instinct. "Full of little baddies I can stick with little arrows?"

She took an especially large clump of grass and flung it at Jethann, who dodged most of it but still had to sift it out of his hair, which was in better condition than he'd expected it to be by now.

"That's not a friggin' Archdemon, is it?" said Sera, tone increasing in volume with the anxiety in her voice.

"What, you think I saw that one coming?" asked Jethann. "I'm not happier about it than you are, or any less surprised. I'm probably the one who's going to have to face up against it or whatever." He hadn't really thought about that before, and when the terror of the idea hit his lower stomach, he decided right then and there that he wasn't going to think about it again.

Sera scoffed. "Are you sure you're as surprised as me? A surprise would be, 'Oh, I stepped in dog shit." No one says, 'Oh, a magister god monster, I'm surprised. Impossible things aren't surprises."

"There's no use in getting mad at me," said Jethann. "Besides, I'm pretty damn sure I was even more surprised than you. It's not your jaw he broke."

Sera's eyebrows shot up. "He broke your jaw? I didn't know that."

Jethann shrugged and, unable to help himself, winked. "I know it's hard to tell, what with how perfect my face is."

Sera's snort was legendary. "You make me wish I _had_ stepped in dog shite just so I could throw it at you."

"You'd put your hands in dog shit just to throw at me? I'm touched."

"That's what friends are for. We are friends, yeah?"

Jethann couldn't hide a smile. "Yeah, I'd say so."

"Good. Friends get to tell other friends when they think they've mucked it up along the way."

Jethann felt worry wash over him, but he kept his tone light. "What did I muck up? I know it wasn't my makeup."

"Back in Haven, when we were leaving and Coryphy-shite was raining his army down on us and all that. You said the little people would understand if we had to leave some behind. People who got trapped or slowed down and all that. That surprised me. You're a little people, or you were."

"Yeah," said Jethann, his chest heavy. "I know what you mean. You're right."

Sera's expression of surprise was so exaggerated that he didn't know whether to laugh or to be insulted. "What?" she said, voice high.

He shrugged. "I said it to get things going. It wasn't right. Of course those people wouldn't understand why I was leaving them behind. Maybe a couple would, but most of them? They'd want me to save them. If I were in their place, I'd want to be saved."

"Then why'd you say it, if you knew it wasn't true?" said Sera, narrowing her eyes.

"Because true or not, it boosted morale enough for us to do what we needed to do. We _couldn't_ save them, no matter how much we wanted to. And trust me, Sera, I wanted to."

He shot her a grim smile. She stared at him in reply for several long moments before saying. "I get it. I don't love it, but I get it."

"That's what friends are for," said Jethann.

She punches him in the arm; it was harder than he'd have liked. "Don't get a big head about it," she said. "I'm gonna go stake out the fancy rooms—see if there's anything fun in 'em. I wanna talk about Coryphallis more, but not now."

She scampered off before he had time to blink or even say bye. He liked Sera, even if he didn't always agree with her. He was glad to know she liked him enough back to call him a friend. He wondered if she would have warmed up to an Inquisitor that wasn't from the same kind of background as her so quickly.

Jethann had only gone about thirty steps on the half-grass, half-gravel path when he nearly ran right into a familiar, well-dressed figure. "Ah, Vivienne," he said. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Vivienne let out a semblance of a laugh. "You owe it to yourself, for nearly running into me. I'm half-tempted to say you look a mess, just to fuss over you, but that would be untrue. You do not look a mess. Your version of style is in top form."

"Is that a compliment? Coming from you?" said Jethann, his tone teasing rather than spiteful.

"I did not say I like your version of style. But I can respect it."

She was looking up at the fortress with appraising eyes. Jethann had never had a truly deep conversation with her. The closest they'd come was a talk about what he planned to do with the rebel mages, and he could tell that she wasn't satisfied with his answers, thinking him foolish and inexperienced for wanting to free them.

She hasn't been overly hostile to him, though. That was always a good sign.

"It was a mistake to use Haven as a base of operations. The town was completely indefensible."

"We did all sort of sit down in the ruins of the Conclave, didn't we?" said Jethann. "I'll be the first to admit I didn't know any better. I'm new to this whole thing."

"It is a credit to you that you do not attempt to push the blame on someone else," said Vivienne. "Inexperience is not in itself a sin—but you must make up for it quickly."

"No pressure or anything."

"The enemy struck a serious blow against the Inquisition. We must recognize that. _You_ must."

"I do," said Jethann. "I am not as inexperienced as all that."

"Good," said Vivienne. "Our enemy advances, Inquisitor. We must not sit idly by. Act first, and teach them to fear us."

"You think I can?" he said, genuinely curious.

"Yes," she said. "We are not close, but I am not blind. You can become the leader the faithful require, but you must do it soon."

"I'll do everything I can," said Jethann. "And before you say it, yes, I know. I'll make sure it's enough."

Vivienne's smile was definitely not a figment of his imagination. "You took the very words out of my mouth."

He bid her farewell and deliberated what to do next. He saw Blackwall and considered walking up to him for a conversation, but he had some more pressing personal business he'd been neglecting. He needed to see Cassandra.

He found her, but it took a while. Instead of relaxing (or in her case, the opposite) in the outdoors like the others, she was inside Skyhold itself, past all the boxes and crates being unpacked. More importantly, she was with Varric. Most importantly, it turned out she'd heard who was waiting on the battlements for Jethann.

"You knew where Hawke was all along!"

"You're damned right I did!"

"You conniving little shit!"

She swung for Varric, missing him only because she didn't adjust for height. Jethann found himself bounding up the stairs. Varric was his closest friend, and he found that he cared for Cassandra more than he realized. He definitely didn't like seeing them going at each other.

"You kidnapped me! You interrogated me! What did you expect?"

Jethann was going to intervene, there was never any doubt of that. But he did doubt how he should do it; and that hesitation meant, when he put skidded into the room and put himself between them, intending to shout at them both, Cassandra's next punch landed on him.

He landed on the floor, pain blossoming in his jaw. Cassandra and Varric were both staring at him in horror.

"Now look what you've done!" sais Varric, voice rising with real anger. "You've gone and punched the Inquisitor!"

It took a few seconds for Jethann to recover from the pain, but when he did, he said, "Hey, someone's gotta knock me off my pedestal, right?"

From Cassandra's look of horror, Jethann concluded that she didn't think it was funny. Even Varric wasn't laughing. His own attempt at humor ended as the pain flared back again. His hand shot to his cheek and came away with blood.

"Now look what you've done!" said Varric, turning to Cassandra.

"I didn't mean to—you can't get out of this because—Inquisitor, are you all right?" Cassandra seemed torn between her anger and concern for Jethann. Touching.

Jethann reached a hand in his mouth to make sure all his teeth were where they were supposed to be. Satisfied on that front, he looked up at both of them, not bothering to get up. "Well, what do you have to say for yourselves? Cassandra, did you start this?"

His jaw was aching something fierce, but he had a feeling that this fight wasn't going to stop unless addressed, and he hated the way they were looking at him.

"We needed someone to lead this Inquisition. Leliana and I looked for the Hero of Ferelden, but he had vanished. Then we looked for Hawke, but…" Cassandra cut off, shaking her head. "I don't want to do this now. I cannot believe I punched you. I am so sorry."

"It was an accident," said Jethann. "Not that it doesn't hurt. I just don't want it to happen again."

"It won't," said Cassandra fervently. Varric's expression was so derisive that Jethann was grateful that her gaze was trained on his and not the dwarf's.

"That's not what I mean. This fight. I don't want to have to stand between you two, or anyone else for that matter. We can't afford to into fights like this. I need both of you, dammit. I can't do this by myself." His tone wasn't emotional, but it still took him quite a lot to say those words.

Varric and Cassandra both had the decency to look ashamed. "What is this about?" said Jethann, finally pulling himself up, wincing at the pain. "Is it just because Varric didn't tell you about Hawke, Cassandra? Is that really all this is?"

"You make it sound like so little," said Cassandra. "With Hawke, we could have had a chance to save the Divine. If Varric…"

"Varric was protecting his friend," said Jethann. "I think you've forgotten that I know Hawke too, Cassandra. She's only human." He paused, letting a joke pass him by because of the gravity of the moment. Maybe being a leader was all about not utilizing _every_ opportunity for a saucy comment. "She couldn't have saved the Divine. Stop dealing in 'what ifs.'"

Cassandra stared at him. "When did you get so wise?"

"He's older than he looks," said Varric.

"Oh, now you believe me," said Jethann. "Cassandra, I know you're upset. But put yourself in his shoes."

"Everything he does," said Cassandra, whose gritted teeth either represented anger or an internal struggle. "Everything he does is for his own goals. Not for the Inquisition."

"That's not fair," said Jethann. "And you know it. Besides, he looks out for his friends, and I happen to be one of those. And I'm with the Inquisition."

Varric looked at Jethann with an eyebrow raised. "I do care about the Inquisition for itself, you know," he said. "But I get what you're going for."

Jethann turned to Varric. "Can you leave us alone for a bit? I'll see you later tonight at cards, after all."

"Really? She just punched you, you know."

"It was an accident."

Varric shook his head, clapping Jethann's bony shoulder on the way out. Cassandra moved to the window, staring out of it instead of facing him. He stopped right before he hit the top of the stairs. "You know what I think? If Hawke had been at the temple, she'd be dead too. You people have done enough to her."

Jethann cast a glance back at him. He was pretty sure everything was fine between them, but he'd make sure that night at cards. Cassandra was more uncertain. He moved toward her, so many things to say that the words he was trying to keep suppressed ended up being the ones that bubbled out.

"Do you really wish Hawke were in my place so much? Am I doing that bad of a job?"

Cassandra straightened up, turning to him with a look of deep surprise on her face. She hardly ever looked so open. It's too bad it only happened when he caught her off guard.

"That is not why I am trying to say! I only wish Hawke had been there…she would have been able to save…"

"Varric didn't cause what happened at the Conclave," said Jethann.

Cassandra shook her head. She sat down on an old chair, leaning forward so that her hand was pressed on her knee. He sat in the chair across from him, all thin limbs. "You're doing a fine job so far. I apologize if I led you to believe otherwise."

"I suppose I can't complain," said Jethann. "I haven't done much of anything, after all. It's only a been a day."

"No," said Cassandra. "You've been doing a fine job for some time now. If I'd sat Varric down, made him understand why it was important to find Hawke, maybe she would have understood, but I didn't, did I? I didn't explain anything to him. And I clung to my hopes of who would lead us, without realizing who already was."

"But you agreed with the others, didn't you?" said Jethann. "When it came to picking me for that ceremony out there?"

"Yes," said Cassandra. "That is what opened my eyes. Began to. But now I see…Hawke was not the person we needed for this job. I judged you harshly when we met, but I was wrong to. I am angry with Varric, but it is unwarranted. The Maker sent the right person. I said as much earlier, but only now is it sinking in. I need to be better than this. I must be smarter, more open-minded. I don't deserve to be here."

He'd never thought she'd feel these things, let alone express them. "Yes, you do. I don't know what the Inquisition would do without you."

Cassandra lifted a hand to his cheek, brushing the bruise already forming. He didn't flinch, although it hurt a little. "You would not have this."

"Accidents happen," said Jethann. "I've had worse." Her touch was cold, the feel of a worn glove against fractured skin. He was still disappointed when she pulled away, gaze trained on her brooding eyes.

"That does not make it right," said Cassandra. "I don't know what is to come, Jethann, but you're more than I could have hoped for."

"No pressure," whispered Jethann, shutting his eyes ever-so-briefly, a second-long respite from the outside world, even as it threatened to break in.

When he opened them again, Cassandra was watching him. "I would not trade you for Hawke now. Know that."

Jethann nodded slightly, trying to let her know that he caught the sincerity that broke her voice when she spoke. "I've better get to Hawke before she starts wondering if I'm ever coming to those battlements."

Cassandra blinked several times, as though she were breaking a spell. "Oh, yes. Of course. I apologize if I've been keeping you."

"Not at all," said Jethann. "I'm glad I found this fight, although I wished I'd managed to intervene in a manner that cost me less of my pretty face."

"I will find you a balm for that," said Cassandra quickly.

Jethann leaned forward slightly. "I was looking for you, actually. I never responded to Serendipity. The reply is embarrassingly overdue. And I would like to send a second letter, to my…brother. I can't do it by myself yet."

Cassandra seemed taken aback, but after a moment she nodded, smiling uncertainly. "Yes, of course. I can help you with that. When you have a little free time, come find me."

He stood up. "Will do. Try not to get into any more brawls, will you?"

"No need to say it again," said Cassandra, looking slightly disgruntled. Sometimes it was hard to tell if she was upset or if that was her natural state. He waved in reply, his last glimpse of her rewarded with a slight smile.

Jethann walked down the stairs, heart neither light nor heavy, but a mixture of both. He would process it all later. He had a Champion to greet.


	16. Chapter Fifteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thank you for your patience in this next chapter. I'm studying abroad in England, so it's taken me a bit to write this chapter, but I got it done! I've started the next one, but I'm going to have to put it on pause for a bit, as I'm going to be really busy for a while. Thank you to all my readers for being so great. :)

Jethann wasn't entirely sure how, but somehow while he was on route to the battlements, he had run into Blackwall, who apparently desired nothing more in his soul than to examine the fortifications. It wasn't out of his way, exactly. Jethann was supposed to meet Hawke on the castle walls; Blackwall wanted to go to them. Worked for him. Of course, when they first met Jethann had to explain to the overprotective Warden that, no, no one had beaten him, it was just Cassandra who'd given him the black eye, and that, no, she hadn't suddenly turned on them. Jethann couldn't help but like that Blackwall was being protective, overmuch so or not, of him.

When Blackwall took him up to the walls, though, he forgot that the Champion of Kirkwall was waiting for him. If the view of Skyhold from a distance had been incredible, this was nothing short of miraculous. Jethann meant that in the old sense; the word's root was miracle. Seemed like something too smart for him to know, but he'd learned that from Cassandra and her insistence in reading some Chantry texts when she taught him how to read. His fingers gripped the stone walls until scratches marked in his fingertips, but still the view called him. Mountains as far as the eye could see, their tips wreathed with clouds. Down far below, in a drop so far it made him dizzy, was a river, winding through the deep bases of the mountains with an icy dignity. He took a deep breath, trying to think of a response.

"We'll be able to see Corypheus from miles away," said Blackwall.

Jethann whistled. "That's certainly a way to put it."

There was a pause. "I have to ask you a question," said Blackwall. "We haven't had much time to speak, but it's a simple matter."

"We haven't had much time to speak about simple matters, you mean," said Jethann. "Anyone who travels with me has heard me say plenty."

Blackwall's bristly beard twitched in amusement. "This is true. I suppose I mean that we haven't spoken one on one very often."

"I have all these people who follow me," said Jethann. "And I never seem to get to talk to any of them. Where's the fairness in that?"

Blackwall didn't seem to know what to say, so Jethann waved his hand dismissively. "Ignore that. What's your question?"

"People believe in you. They flock to your banners. Yes, there are people out there who doubt you, say…well, you know what they say. But they do not have the majority."

Blackwall began pacing. Jethann wanted to tell him that this wasn't a question, but he had a feeling that would count as being cheeky, and Blackwall was obviously worked up about this.

"Tell me honestly: are you what they say you are? Andraste's chosen?"

"Going for the big one, I see," said Jethann softly. "I don't know, Blackwall. I'm a doubter by nature. What has Andraste ever done for me before this? And before you say anything, trust me, I've needed her help in the past, and I got nothing. So for a long time, I would have said, no, I'm not. But I don't know. I'd never have thought I'd find myself here, so who knows."

Blackwall seemed surprised by how candidly he spoke. Jethann regretted it a little. The bear man seemed like the kind of person who wanted someone to agree with him to make him feel better. "Don't you see what you are to them? Without you, they'd be consumed by despair. We all would."

"Even though there are sects rising up in Orlais and Ferelden, refusing to believe that I'm Andraste's chosen?" said Jethann "Leliana says they haven't come up with names for themselves, but they're considering the Vice Killers. I think it's rather terrible, myself."

"There are always doubters," said Blackwall. "The people here need you to be Andraste's messenger. It gives them hope. The truth doesn't matter."

Jethann opened his mouth to respond, but Blackwall beat him to it. "Ah, listen to me talk. Your time is valuable, and I've wasted enough of it."

For some reason, Jethann didn't like hearing that; it wasn't that he was particularly attracted to Blackwall, but there was a tight feeling in his chest at the idea that he was becoming unapproachable to even the people who traveled with him. "Don't say that," he said. "I'm busy, yeah, that's true, but I'm the same elf you met in the Hinterlands. I'll still be dragging you out to who-knows-where in a week's time."

Blackwall's forehead crinkled for a moment, but his astonished look was quickly replaced by a smile. "Duly noted," he said, waving at him before walking away.

Jethann stuck his hands in his pockets. Now to the battlements, which were thankfully not very far away. He did enough walking when they traipsed around the Ferelden countryside—now expanded, according to Josephine's reports on their expanded diplomatic importance, to the Orlesian one as well.

He rounded the corner, his mind not on his conversation with Blackwall but rather remembering Kirkwall, and the series of events that had led him to meeting Hawke, before she was the Champion and savior of the mages. She'd been lovely then, full of wit and sarcasm, and as ready to save people as she was to banter.

And then he thought about Ninette. He'd pushed her from his thoughts since Kirkwall, but he hadn't forgotten about her. Walking with his leather boots against the cobblestones of a fortress that was being used in his name, he wondered if, perhaps, things might have been completely different if she hadn't been killed. Maybe she would have gotten away from her terrible husband, and she and Jethann could have…

…could have what, exactly? She was a noblewoman and he was an elf. It would have ended badly, and he might be dead along with so many others. He finished the walk to the battlements and pushed Ninette back out of his thoughts and into the crevice in his heart where he'd been keeping her memories.

He found Varric pacing anxiously near the battlements, wearing marks into age-old stone. He smiled a little to himself; seeing Varric this nervous was unusual. He would wonder why, since he'd known Hawke back in Kirkwall, but the butterflies in his own stomach told him why. So much had changed since he'd last seen her.

Enough wallowing, he chided himself. Instead he looked up at the figure that was walking down the steps to greet them, sun blocking a clear view of her. Jethann wolf-whistled anyway, just for the sound he knew it would illicit; a loud laugh, one of Hawke's trademarks. And it came, right on cue.

"Inquisitor, meet Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall," said Varric. The words would have had some weight to them if the three people standing in the battlements together hadn't shared drinks in The Hanged Man.

Hawke finally came into view, the sun blocked when they shifted their standing positions to the right. It let Jethann get a good look at her; she'd changed. Not too much, but she was older now, and there were lines beginning to form at the corner of her eyes. Tall, with broad shoulders and a huge sword strapped to her back, her brown skin was accentuated by the red armor she wore, a slightly different shade than her auburn hair. Her lips were splitting her round, heart-shaped face in a grin as she regarded Jethann in a similar manner, appraising him after the years that separated them.

"You look good," she said. "Really good."

He raised his eyebrows, something he did so often it had to classify as a bad habit, and put his hand on his hip. "And what did you expect? For me to have shriveled up and turned into an old hag since we last saw each other? Besides, I don't look that good, I have a huge black eye. Since when were you a liar?"

"Honestly?" she said, taking a step closer. "I didn't really believe that it was you. Seemed too crazy to be true. And how'd you get the eye?"

"A wild stallion kicked me," he said. At Hawke's incredulous look, he added. "Her name was Cassandra, and it was an accident, I promise. Varric can confirm."

"I can confirm that she did it," said Varric.

"And?" said Jethann.

He huffed. "And it was an accident."

Jethann smiled. "Varric and Cassandra are not exactly friends. As to it being me…" He proffered his hands. "Look," he said. "Do these lie?"

She stared at the mark, pulsing green and glowing bright enough to distract from the hot sun behind them. "You really are the Herald."

"Oh, yeah," said Jethann, looking at his hands. "I was thinking more about all my callouses. It's quite cruel, you know, to make me do so much work when I'm so pretty."

Hawke laughed, white teeth flashing in her grin. "You haven't changed much, have you?"

Jethann exchanged a look with Varric. "Oh, you'll find that I have."

Varric laughed. "He's not wrong. He's a different elf than before. Hey, why don't we get off these battlements? I thought it would be nice and out of the way here, but the sun is going to give me cataracts if we stay here much longer."

Hawke looked around, taking in the scenery. "This fortress is impressive, but I know nothing about it. Do either of you know somewhere secluded we could take this conversation?"

"Well, there are a million corners of the fortress with tucked away chairs and tables," said Jethann. "I'm sure we'll find something."

They took the stairs down from the battlements, Jethann unable to suppress a grin. It felt good to be walking side-by-side with Hawke and Varric. He hadn't been close friends with either of them back in Kirkwall, but it felt good to have them, like walking reminders of home.

They passed Leliana as they walked. "I'd like to talk to you later," she said.

"Who wouldn't?" he said. "Everyone wants to."

She rolled her eyes. "You're hilarious, really," she said, the sarcasm apparent even with her accent. She was smiling, though. "It's to do with the war table. But there's something else you should see. It's for you, befitting the Inquisitor."

She handed him a slip of paper, which he looked at and found were directions to what looked like several rooms in the fortress. When he looked up, she was gone, but that was okay. They were easy enough; right off the main hall. "We might as well go here," he said.

Hawke shrugged. She was an easygoing woman when there wasn't a fight going on. Jethann had seen her skills at work only once, when there had been a fight on the main floor of the Rose, and that hadn't involved that huge, glittering sword she kept strapped to her back, just fists. "Works for me," she said. "I'm not picky."

They walked through the grass to the entrance of Skyhold proper, bypassing workers who were fixing up the broken bits of the place with lots and lots of scaffolding. Even Varric had to duck at one point when a qunari yelled "coming through!" and darted past them with huge planks of wood in their arms.

"What have you been up to?" asked Jethann, noticing the way that Hawke looked around to make sure that no one had noticed her. She wasn't very good at blending in, if that's what she was going for—not with her red well-tailored and well-designed armor and the sword so big Jethann would say she was compensating for something if she were a man.

"This and that," said Hawke. "Mostly running and hiding. Trying to help the mages and all that. Didn't stay in Kirkwall 'cause I didn't want the Divine to put down the mage rebellion. Maybe it was naïve of me, but she didn't end up chasing me either way. All the Circles started rising up and the Exalted March never came."

"Thank god," muttered Varric.

"And you and Isabela?" said Jethann, unable to suppress a smirk.

"You always did have a reputation for gossiping," said Hawke. "I bet you even know my first name."

"Of course I do, Russ," said Jethann. "Just because we all called you Hawke doesn't mean we didn't know it. I just go with the crowd, what can I say?"

"I'm so used to it now I wouldn't have it any other way," said Hawke. "Although it was strange at first. Anyway, Isabela and I never believed in being tied down. We meet when we can."

"Tied up, on the other hand…" drawled Jethann.

"You're incorrigible," said Varric, laughing that deep-throated chest laugh he did when he thought Jethann was hilarious but didn't want to encourage him.

"Well, he's not wrong," said Hawke. "I think we've found the door on that treasure map."

Jethann knocked on the door, just to make sure. He'd learned long ago not to intrude on closed doors without the proper precautions. When there was no answer, he eased it open. Inside was…a long hallway. One that was filled with clouds of dust. Jethann stepped inside, covering his mouth as he got used to the stale air.

Hawke whistled low as she and Varric followed him in. "Well, I can see why Leliana told you about this place. I mean, who wouldn't want to be here, right?"

Jethann looked around, but there wasn't much to see, not least because it was hard to see anything at all with the lack of windows and the small candles hanging around the place. He took a few steps and looked to the side to see a hole in the wall, half-fixed and letting birds in to flap around and caw at the three of them.

"This place is the pits," said Jethann. "Let's go into the next room."

Hawke sneezed in reply. She must have had a lot to say, because she sneezed several more times in their walk over to the next room. Jethann was about to tease her about it, but he stopped when he opened the door.

It wasn't the most beautiful room he'd ever seen. Sure, it was fancier than The Blooming Rose, but Jethann had been to parties in Kirkwall now and again, and he'd seen better fanfare in Orlais, including but not limited to Vivienne's ball. This room took his breath away for another reason.

The green and red carpets, the elegant sofa, the balcony, not to mention the extravagant mural with the Inquisition's symbol done on the high lofted ceiling, wasn't just pretty or well-made. Jethann looked at the little map Leliana had given him. "It's for you," she'd said.

"Someone must have been in here recently," said Hawke. "The fire's lit."

Jethann hadn't even seen the fireplace. He'd been so busy staring ahead of him that he'd only hardly noticed the balcony to begin with. He took a step forward, running his hand along the mantel and feeling the cool stone. "A bit dangerous to light all these candles and then leave them alone," he said, his hand stopping along the edge of a cluster of candles that had been places on top of the mantel.

He was trying to make a joke, but it fell flat. Jethann couldn't stop looking around. He approached the bed, pressing his hand to it to text the mattress. It was, of course, high-quality, better than the Rose's rooms, and those had been the top of his list for nice beds for most of his life.

"You okay, Jethann?" said Varric, which was sweet, although Jethann sort of hated him for it. He didn't want Varric or Hawke or anyone else to notice when he was feeling…vulnerable, he supposed. But still, Varric was trying to be sweet.

"Of course I'm okay," he said. "I just lived at the Rose for a long time. I haven't had a room of my own since I was a kid in the Alienage. And it certainly wasn't as nice as this."

His words were still cased in a layer of sarcasm, but Varric, and even Hawke, knew him well enough to see past it. Jethann wasn't going to let them dwell on it, though, and sat on the bed, gesturing for Varric and Hawke to take a seat on the couch.

"It couldn't have happened to a better prostitute," said Hawke.

Jethann laughed. "Getting these lovely living quarters, or becoming Inquisitor? Because the former seems to be one of the few perks of the latter."

"You're a rising star, Inquisitor," said Hawke. "And I'm glad it's you. That's all I'm saying. Anyway, you wanted to know about Corypheus, didn't you?"

"Oh, yes, I guess I did," said Jethann. "I got so caught up in seeing you and seeing all this that I forgot. But first, something more important."

"Something more important?" said Varric. "What's more important than Corypheus? You already asked about Isabela, after all, so Hawke's sex life is dealt with already."

"I was going to ask about the rest of her friends, because I'm a polite and considerate host," said Jethann. "And I love news from home, but that's besides the point. We'll get to the boring stuff, then."

"I'll tell you about them later, don't worry," said Hawke.

"We're having a card game tonight," said Jethann. "You're welcome to come. And if you don't come, I might order you to as Inquisitor."

"You've been in power for a day and you're already abusing it," said Varric, smirking. "We've created a monster."

"Don't worry," said Hawke. "I'm coming, whether you want me to or not. I haven't come all this way for you to cut me out of the profits just yet."

"You haven't played with me in a long time if you think you're going to win tonight," said Jethann. "Then again, by the end of today I'll have met with so many people that I'll be dead on my feet."

"I thought you'd be used to a revolving door of strangers," said Hawke, winking.

If it had been anyone else, Jethann would have fixed her with an ice cold stare. Instead, he shook his head. "You can't talk like that in front of anyone else, you know," he replied. "They might have heart attacks. Besides, it's not good for the Inquisition's name."

"Oh, bugger that," said Hawke, reacting properly to the sarcasm laden in Jethann's tone. "They should be proud of who you are and where you came from. But you're getting me off track again. We need to talk about Corypheus."

"That's right," said Jethann. "My favorite topic."

Varric chuckled, leaning his arms back on the sofa. "Hey, at least you haven't had to fight him twice."

Jethann gave him a pointed look. "Who's jaw did he break?"

"Point taken."

"You've already dropped half a mountain on him," said Hawke. "So I'm not sure I can be of too much help on this one."

"Oh no you don't," said Jethann. "Not after the qunari invasion and the mage rebellion. No being humble."

"Okay, then," said Hawke. She'd been smiling since she got here, and so had Jethann; he hadn't realized how long it had been since he'd felt so relaxed. He had to wonder if she felt the same way too.

"The Grey Wardens were holding Corypheus, and he used his connection to the darkspawn to influence them."

"He got into their heads, messed with their minds," said Varric. "Turned them against each other."

"If the Wardens have disappeared, they could have fallen under his control again," added Hawke.

Jethann remembered something, memories dredged up from Darktown. "Anders was a Grey Warden, wasn't he?"

"Still is, technically," replied Hawke. "We're protecting him as best we can, me and Isabela."

"Tell him I said hi, will you?" said Jethann. "I won't ask where he is. If I did, I think Leliana might torture the answer out of me." He felt guilt after he said it; he couldn't forget what he'd seen in that other future.

"I appreciate both sentiments," said Hawke. "And I'm sure he will too."

Jethann winked. "Of course. After all, he's seen parts of me few have seen. You know, since he's a doctor."

"Few have seen?" said Hawke. "Nice try. Anyway, I have some good news along with the whole Corypheus-might-be-using-the-Grey-Wardens-as-pawns thing. I have a friend in the Wardens."

"Well, obviously," said Jethann. "We did just say Anders was a Warden."

"Another friend in the Wardens, then," said Hawke.

"Other than your sister?" said Varric.

The crackling fire in the fireplace wasn't the only thing keeping Jethann relaxed. This banter was nice—but he knew he should let Hawke get to her point before she stabbed him and Varric with that big pointy sword.

"Yes, other than my sister! You two play off each other too well. I'm surprised that Seeker hasn't stabbed you yet. She seems like the stabby sort."

"She is," said Jethann. "But don't worry, unlike Varric, I'm on her good side."

"Let me know how you managed that sometime, will you?" said Varric.

"I was saying," interrupted Hawke, rolling her eyes. "That I have a friend in the Grey Wardens. His name is Loghain. The last time we spoke, he was worried about corruption in the Grey Warden ranks. Since then, nothing. Corypheus certainly counts as that."

Jethann rifled through his pockets quickly, looking for something as his fingers came in contact with missives from scouts, some loose makeup, and a lot of elfroot hidden away in his clothing. His fingers closed on a sovereign, which was close enough to what he wanted. He pulled it out and threw it at Hawke, where it hit her right on the forehead, leaving a little circle mark behind it.

"Ow!" she said, hand shooting up to the place of impact. "Maker, Jethann! What was that for?"

"Do you hear this woman?" said Jethann, turning to Varric. He pitched his voice slightly higher, pretending to be Hawke, and mimicked, "Oh, I have a friend in the Wardens, Loghain, but let's move past that and talk about Corypheus some more."

Varric chuckled. "What're you getting at?"

"I may be from Kirkwall," said Jethann. "But you're not going to slip in your friend Loghain without confirming that he's that big disgraced general from the Blight. He totally is, isn't he? I hear he was forced into becoming a Warden."

"You love gossip, even when it's not from your country, don't you?" said Hawke, pouting a little as she rubbed her forehead.

"Hey, that's a great trait in an Inquisitor," said Jethann. "I'd even say necessary."

"Yeah, yeah, it's that Loghain," she said. "But he's just a Warden now. Not even technically Ferelden. They're not allowed to have any outside allegiances."

"Is he hot?" said Jethann. "Or has the bitterness rotted him away?"

"I never thought I'd have to weigh in on this," said Hawke. "But he's…I can't do this. He lives in a void where attractiveness isn't a factor, ever. Maker, he's at least sixty!"

Varric tutted, shaking his head. "Age is just a number."

"Oh well," said Jethann. "I'll just decide for myself when I meet him. I assume I am meeting him, right?"

"He's hiding in a cave in Crestwood, or at least that's where he said he'd be," replied Hawke. She punched him in the arm, making him wince. "You are incorrigible, you know that?"

"Yes," said Jethann. "Varric called me that like an hour ago. Get with the program."

No one had time to say anything more, as there was a knock at the door. His door, to his quarters. He couldn't help humming a little at that thought as he stood up to answer the knock.

When he opened the door, he was surprised to see Cassandra on the other side, worrying her lip as she stared at the floor. "People already know where my quarters are, huh? That's not a good sign for my privacy," he said.

Cassandra's head shot up when he opened the door, and she shook her head emphatically at his words. "I helped Leliana with the design of the room. Very few people know its location right now…although eventually I am sure they will be able to guess. But you can always lock your doors."

"Is that the Seeker I hear?" called Varric from the sofa.

"Yes," said Jethann in reply.

"Oh," said Cassandra. "I did not realize you were entertaining."

"We were talking about Corypheus and all that," said Jethann. Varric and Hawke had gotten up while they spoke, and moved in behind Jethann.

Hawke nodded to Cassandra. "We haven't had a chance to speak," she said. "I'm Hawke. Jethann and I are about done here, so Varric and I will leave to give you two a chance to speak in private."

Varric was eyeing Cassandra suspiciously, as though he was nervous to pass by her on the way out. Cassandra stepped aside without a second thought, however, and Varric moved to outside the door without incident.

"It is an honor to meet you, Champion," said Cassandra, so audibly nervous Jethann imagined he heard a stammer in her tone. "I hope we will get a chance to speak more later on."

Hawke clapped her on the shoulder as she passed her. "I'm sure we will. Good to meet you. Jethann, good to see you."

"See you tonight," he replied, smiling.

Cassandra's eyebrows rose in shock, and Jethann, laughing, added, "At the card game."

Hawke winked. "Of course, at the card game. If you say so."

Jethann was still laughing when he shut the door behind Varric and Hawke, leading Cassandra to the couch, where he sat on his bed again.

"Tell me you're not planning to sleep with the Champion of Kirkwall," said Cassandra, a mixture of exasperation, amusement, and something else…something Jethann couldn't quite identify in her tone.

"Don't worry," said Jethann. "Been there, done that. But more importantly, what's up? Is there already more Corypheus news pounding at the door?"

Cassandra shook her head, her cheeks reddening. Jethann actually took the time to look at what she was holding; a letter-writing kit, and some healing balms. He looked back up at her face and cocked his head. "What's this?"

She crossed her legs on the sofa, setting her items down next to her. "I feel terrible about punching you," she said. "I thought I'd bring some balms to help it heal. I know how important your looks are to you. Oh, that did not come out right, did it?"

Jethann laughed. "Don't worry, you're not wrong. Well, I appreciate it."

"You also said you'd like to draft a reply to your friend and your brother. I can help with that."

"I'm sure you've got better things to do right now than waste your time with me," said Jethann.

Cassandra shrugged. "There is nowhere I'd rather be. Now get over here."

Her voice was so commanding that he didn't even ask why until he was already seated on the sofa next to her. She uncorked the bottle and spread it over her fingers. "May I?" she asked, in a tone she probably intended to be politer than it was.

"Of course," said Jethann, getting halfway through a wink before wincing at the pain it caused his bruised skin. Wink with the other eye, he told himself silently.

Cassandra gave him a tentative smile, one that looked like it was hardly managing to stay on her face. He wondered what she was so nervous about, but then again, Cassandra was always nervous in any situation that involved real human contact beyond fighting. Redcliffe Castle and his trip back in time flashed through his mind, and he pushed away the memory of Cassandra's lips on his. That was a different woman, living in a terrible time. It wasn't the woman that was now bringing her fingers to his face, wet with healing balm.

He let out an involuntary hiss when she touched his face, and she flinched. "Did I hurt you? I am so sorry. I am not a gentle woman. But you know this."

He shook his head slightly. "Don't worry," he said. The scent of the healing balm was almost flowery, a well-made prudct meant to relax the unfortunate user. "It's not you. It would hurt if Andraste herself were doing it."

Cassandra shook her head. "I cannot decide whether or not that comment is blasphemy."

She began applying the balm in earnest, and the cool salve was a delight against his hot cheek. He shut his eyes in response to the comfort of it, even if it meant he missed the way Cassandra's gaze was concentrated intensely on him. Her gaze was so intense she looked like she was balancing the Orlesian crown on one hand.

"It feels nice," said Jethann, feeling unusually incapable of putting what he felt into words. "Thank you."

"It's already starting to heal," said Cassandra. "Healing balms are harder to find since the mages rebelled, but they do work quickly."

"I hope this isn't being used on me when someone who really needs it is laying in the infirmary," said Jethann.

"Don't worry," said Cassandra. "I checked."

Her fingers were still against his cheek, the balm drying fast. He knew if he moved it would startle her, like a young deer. She startled herself after a few moments, jolting with recognition and withdrawing her fingers. She leaned back on the sofa, and the tension between them dissipated. Jethann was glad he hadn't given into his sudden urge to kiss her, if only to see what it was like in this timeline. He thought he was glad, anyway.

"Thank you," said Jethann again.

"You really shouldn't," said Cassandra. "I was the one who punched you, after all."

He laughed. "That's true."

She almost smiled and picked up the writing kit she'd brought, removing some papers and a portable quill. "Can we move to your desk?" she asked.

He stood up hastily. "Of course," he said. "It's beyond time to draft those replies. I'm surprised I haven't gotten three more letters from Serendipity, demanding why I haven't been in touch."

Cassandra foraged around in the dusty recesses of the newly renovated room, finding a second chair for herself, and pulled up next to him. She dipped her quill in the ink before pausing to look at him. "Would you like to write them?"

He considered it. "How about I write them, and you copy a nice version? I'd like the practice, but even Serendipity doesn't deserve the curse of my handwriting."

Cassandra nodded, pleased by his suggestion. "That is a good idea. It gives you the practice without causing Serendipity any legibility issues."

He laughed. "I'll ignore that slight to my handwriting, if only because it's true. Now, I better stop putting this off."

He put his hand to paper, his fingers preemptively aching at the strangeness of writing. He always felt like people who'd done this all their lives didn't know what they had; for them, it seemed to come with such ease, while he always felt like his hand was bent in a wrong position while he did it. Pushing those thoughts out of his mind, he got to work in writing a letter to Serendipity, knowing as he wrote that Cassandra would have to read it in order to copy it down.

"Dear Seren," his letter started. "I know how you hate being called that—that's why I'm doing it. It really is me you're hearing about. Tell all those nobles bragging that they should be proud to claim they slept with me—after all, they say I'm the Herald of Andraste now. Does that make my flesh holy?"

He paused, smiling. "I'm only joking, of course. I promise I'm not getting too big of a head. I miss Kirkwall, and you, and all the boys and girls. Tell Lusine to suck an egg for me, if the old hag is still around."

He wracked his brain for all the things he could tell her, but they seemed too incredible, and too long, to put in a letter. "So much as happened, more than I can write. I'd like to see you, if you could bear to be away from Bran for so long. Maker, invite him too, as an ambassador from Kirkwall or something. The fresh air would be good for his sour face."

He ended it with, "Really, I do miss you and all the rest. Love, Jethann."

It took him over an hour to write just that, between his slow writing and all the spelling errors he found and corrected. When he handed it to Cassandra, he winced and shook his hand out as she read over it, nervousness building over him. Nothing was more anxiety-inducing than watching someone silently look over your work.

"You have done very well here," said Cassandra. "You have a few errors, but you have improved much since we began."

Jethann knew praise when he heard it, but he wasn't exactly sure what to do with it. "Good to hear I haven't been wasting your time," he said. "Usually when I spend so much alone time with a woman it's for a different reason."

She rolled her eyes, but there was no anger in it. "You wish to write another letter, yes? I will begin copying this one while you do so."

"That sounds like a plan," he said. "Sorry you've had nothing to do for the last hour." He felt bad for not realizing that she'd been sitting there for ages while he wrote.

To his surprise, she shook her head. "I have been reading," she said carefully. "You were engrossed, so…I did not think you would mind."

"What books?" he said.

"We have work to do," she said crossly.

"Oh, I see I've hit a sore spot," he said. At her unamused look, he smirked. "I'd love to tease you about it more, I really would, but I've got to get my second letter done, after all. No time for asking you about your reading habits."

"Good," she said, eyeing him with clear distrust. Cassandra was smart and she knew there was no way he'd hand over such a juicy opportunity to tease her so easily. He wasn't, of course; he just knew how to bide his time.

He grinned at her before pulling out a new piece of parchment to write his second letter. She began copying his first one, glancing up at him every once and a while suspiciously as she did so, as though she thought he might snatch her book when she wasn't looking. As though he'd be so crass about it.

His mirth dampened a bit when he seriously began to write his letter. He tapped his quill several times on the paper, unsure how to begin this letter. He hadn't spoken to his brother in years. He didn't hate him, exactly. The whole thing was complicated. He was fairly sure his brother understood.

"Dear…" he wrote, pausing before adding the second word. "Jace."

He paused again, before shaking himself mentally. He needed to get over this, especially with what he was planning to say.

"Hope you are well. I am, mostly. I know it has been a long time. I am sorry about that—you know how it is for me." He thought about writing more in that vein, but heard Cassandra curse under her breath, and remembered that she'd been reading the letter. "Tell everyone in the Alienage I said hello. Everyone who remembers me, anyway. Although I'm sure everyone is claiming to remember me now."

He tapped his nails against the desk several times, biting his lip, before continuing. "I don't know how you and Selina are doing, but I'd be happy to have you here in Skyhold. I know it sounds far-fetched, but a lot of what you hear about me is true. Well, some of it. I know they're saying some crazy stuff. Find Serendipity from the Rose—she can tell you that I'm not lying. And I do mean it. You should come."

He started to sign it with something like "sincerely" or "your brother", but it didn't feel right. At the end he just signed Jethann. His brother's wife could read; she'd be able to show his brother the letter. He'd invited them because it felt right, but the pit in his stomach said the truth, that he didn't really want them to come. Well, either way, letters took a while to deliver; he wouldn't have to know the answer for a while.

He sagged in his chair, exhausted from the events of the day. It felt like a year ago that he'd been made Inquisitor, but it was only earlier that morning. And there was still so much more to do. He had a feeling that that was going to be the nature of things now, that everything was just going to rack up until it felt like he was carrying it all on his narrow shoulders. He already needed a neck massage as it was.

"I hope you don't mind," he said. "But it's getting dark outside, and I would like to take a walk before that card game with Varric starts. It's been a long day."

He added the last part so that Cassandra wouldn't think he was slacking off; he didn't want her to think that he didn't care about the position they'd given him. He was thinking about stopping at the war table first, though. The last war table missions he'd done at Haven were to give the mages from the decimated Hasmal Circle safe transport to the Inquisition and accept supplies from the Blades of Hessarian, only so Jethann could redistribute them to the few people left of the Storm Coast that they'd been stolen from. There were a few issues left over from Haven and a whole new host of them that were springing up because of their new position in Skyhold. He wasn't sure about stopping at the war table, so he didn't mention it to Cassandra. He didn't want her to think that he was flaunting his new status, either. It was all so complicated.

"You don't have to worry about finishing the letters right now," he added belatedly. "I'd like to get them off soon, but it wouldn't be fair for me to take a break and leave you here. I'd invite you to the card game, but Varric is hosting, and he's bringing Hawke…"

Cassandra has looked up from the letters by now, and her lips are pursed. "What makes you think I would like to come anyway?"

He shrugged, refusing to be offended. "Because I would want to. Do you like horseback riding?"

"Yes," she said. "Why?"

"Well, I'd wager that Josephine and Leliana do too. We could go riding or something instead of going to a card game. That seems more up your alley."

"And…why?"

"I can't go around ignoring half my party, now can I?" he said. "That would just be rude. Besides, I like you three too, and I'm sure I'll enjoy something like that. Maker, horseback riding. I can think of a million jokes based off that. Never thought I'd be doing something so posh."

She rolled her eyes. "Can't go ignoring half your party, huh? I notice who you didn't invite to either the card game or riding."

"Don't templars have secret rituals at night that stop them from having fun? Anyway, let's get out of here. It's getting late."

Jethann decided against the war table; it had been a long day, and he just wanted to relax for a little while. He took the long way to Varric's rooms, enjoying the mingling of night air with green grass, taking deep breaths and enjoying nature and all that deep, nostalgic stuff that he was supposed to love but more often than not made him miss the close walls of a bustling city. Kirkwall never completely left his mind, although he did find himself thinking of it less than before the Inquisition. He had a warm bed here, and he hadn't then.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he nearly tripped over someone on his way to the game. To his surprise, Vivienne and Solas were standing around, looking at the person that was picking weeds and…well, Jethann wasn't exactly sure what he was doing with them. At least he wasn't eating them.

He squinted at the person and the rags he was wearing that he was disguising as clothes, the lank blonde hair poking out from under a floppy-brimmed hat, and the pale face shadowed underneath. He knew that hat. It took him several seconds too long to place it; it belonged to the young man who'd burst through the gates to warn them about Corypheus, albeit right as Corypheus had attacked them.

"This thing is not a stray puppy you can make into a pet. It has no business being here."

"Wouldn't you say the same of an apostate?" said Solas, masking the annoyance Jethann could tell was seething under his blank face.

"I hope not," said Jethann lightly, sticking his hands in his pockets as he approached the two of them. "I mean, even if you don't like apostates, they usually merit being called him or her, not it. Or they, if they so choose. But not it."

If Jethann hadn't been good at watching people, he might have missed Solas's mouth twitch in amusement. If he hadn't been an expert in it, he might have missed Vivienne's do the same thing.

"So what's the deal?" said Jethann. "I thought he was just a mage with a couple weird powers or something."

"He has the ability to make people fail to notice them. It appears that Cole is a spirit," said Solas, and he didn't even sound condescending. Maybe Jethann had somehow cracked the secret Solas code that made him like people. If Jethann could figure out what he'd done he might try to bottle and sell it.

"It is a demon," said Vivienne, her tone cold enough to frost grass.

Jethann looked over at Cole, who was humming as he played with the weeds. "If he's a demon, he's not very demonic, is he? He did help us out with Corypheus."

"It is biding its time," said Vivienne. "What will that help cost? How many lives will this demon later claim?"

Jethann looked over at Cole again. Her argument would be a lot more convincing if Cole's clothing wasn't so dirty. "He reminds me of a girl I knew back home," he said. "Not at the Rose, but before that. She was very sweet, but she didn't like to talk to people. Some people said she didn't know how."

When he left the Alienage, he'd seen her once and a while, helping out her brother, who worked in Hightown. She'd always smiled at him. It was hard to see the demon in Cole that Vivienne clearly wanted him to.

"Calling him a demon is an oversimplification. His nature is not so easily defined."

Jethann turned toward Solas. "What're you saying? In non-mage speak, please."

"Demons normally enter this world by possessing something. In their true form, they look bizarre, monstrous. But Cole is in his true form, and has possessed nothing and no one. Yet he appears to be human in all respects." Solas turned to Jethann. "Cole is unique, Inquisitor. More than that, he wants to help. I suggest you allow him to do so."

Jethann met eyes with Vivienne briefly, and she seemed resigned. "I know you well enough to know that your compassion outweighs your education," she said. "As much as you would wish to hide any evidence of either."

"That's not a compliment," he said. "I'll talk to Cole himself, see what he has to say about that."

Vivienne sighed. Jethann's willingness to interact with Cole was proof enough to her that she'd already lost. Jethann wondered if she'd thought, before meeting him, that he'd agree with her politics more. After all, he was a refugee from Kirkwall who'd lost his job because of the Chantry explosion. All odds pointed to him hating mages, but he'd spent too much time around them now to see them as the one-dimensional caricatures that Knight-Commander Meredith had always painted them as. Jethann wasn't sure how he felt about approaching a spirit-demon hybrid, even one that was off pulling weeds and humming to himself, but he didn't think that Solas would ever intentionally lead him into a situation where he'd be in harm's way, and he trusted Solas's intelligence enough to give talking to Cole a go.

He looked over where Cole was playing with weeds, but he was gone. Jethann couldn't remember him leaving, although he would have had to pass directly by them to do so. He suppressed a shiver; he didn't like that Cole was able to make himself disappear from their minds, even if he didn't do it on purpose.

Cole was pacing slowly around a fire nearby now, and Jethann approached him, smoothing back his mown hair and combing it down as he did so. He hardly had time to even groom himself anymore. Being Inquisitor was exhausting, and it hadn't even been twenty-four hours yet.

"Haven. So many soldiers fought to protect the pilgrims so they could escape."

Jethann opened his mouth, then closed it again. Well, he certainly hadn't expected that to be the first topic of conversation.

"Choking fear, can't think from the medicine but the cuts wrack me with every heartbeat. Hot…white…pain. Everything hurts. I can't, I can't, I'm going to…I'm dying…I'm…"

Jethann's breath caught in his throat. He waited for Cole to finish.

"…Dead," came the end of Cole's sentence.

"What was that?" Jethann asked quickly. He pressed his hand to his arm tightly, trying not to show the fear crawling up his throat. "What're you talking about?"

Cole began pacing again, and Jethann watched him walk between people who sat and lay on the ground…and then he realized where they were. He hadn't noticed at first, not with his mind so focused on Cole. They were with dying soldiers, people who'd hung onto life after they'd escaped Haven and had been brought out of the dark tents so they could die on soft grass, looking into the fading light of the day. "Every breath slower. Like lying in a warm bath. Sliding away. Smell of my daughter's hair when I kiss her goodnight."

Jethann followed Cole's gaze and landed on a woman, whose eyes closed as Cole finished speaking. Jethann had goosebumps, and it wasn't chilly.

Cole turned his head away from her. "Cracked, brown pain, dry, scraping. Thirsty." He walked away and returned with water, conjured from somewhere. Jethann watched him give it to another suffering soldier laying with their arm propped up, eyes following Cole with confusion.

"Thank you," rasped the soldier.

Cole looked at Jethann. "It's all right. She won't remember me."

"You're helping people, then?" said Jethann. His heart was hammering away in his chest, scared of the unknown, but Jethann wanted to be as open-minded as his big words suggested he was.

"Yes," said Cole. "I used to think I was a ghost. I didn't know. I made mistakes…but I made friends, too. Then a templar proved I wasn't real. I lost my friends. I lost everything."

"Templars are good at helping people lose everything," said Jethann.

Cole didn't seem to hear him. "I learned how to be more like what I am. It made me different, but stronger. I can feel more. I can help."

It wasn't much of a decision to make for Jethann. He wanted to prove to Solas and Vivienne and all the others that he was pro-mage and open to new things, even if he didn't know too much about them, thanks to his background. That meant squelching the butterflies in his stomach that he got around Cole. "The Inquisition could use your help," he said.

"Yes, helping. I help the hurt, the helpless, there's someone…hurts, it hurts, someone make it stop hurting, Maker please…" He drew out a knife, which didn't startle Jethann as much as anything else he'd done. He'd gotten used to knives by now. Cole wasn't looking at him when he said, "The healers have done all they can. It will take him hours to die. Every moment will be agony. He wants mercy. Help."

Jethann knew what Cole wanted to do, and he knew what he wanted to say. Help him, he wanted to tell Cole, because there was a time when Jethann had known that kind of pain, years and years ago, before he'd known anyone in the Inquisition, even Varric. Cole was staring at him now, and Jethann knew instinctively that he was sensing Jethann's own pain, and he was tempted to pray to the Maker that Cole couldn't tell the source of it.

But he was here now, and that was enough to make him say something else. If he was here now, it wasn't fair to tell Cole to end this man's pain. "You never know," he said. "Right now he might be dying, but something might change. The healers might figure something out, or he just might get lucky. He deserves the chance."

"How do you know?" asked Cole.

"I don't. And neither do you. That's part of life."

"Try," said Cole. "I want to stay."

"That's good to hear," said Jethann. "I've got to get somewhere tonight, but Solas will take care of you if you need help."

Cole nodded in his direction, which Jethann took as acceptance of what he'd said, and he made his way back to Solas and Vivienne, one of whom was smiling and one of whom was frowning.

"You do not surprise me," said Vivienne. "But you do disappoint me."

"Sorry to hear that," said Jethann. "But I'm cute enough that you forgive me, right?"

"I don't remember saying anything that would imply that."

Jethann winked. "Have fun with him, Solas. It's getting late, and I have places to be."

He said quick goodbyes to them and headed off to Varric's rooms for the card game, the tension leaving his shoulders once again. Cole was a handful, but Solas seemed to know what to do, and Jethann sensed that he wasn't the danger that Vivienne thought he was.

When he arrived at Varric's hastily prepared rooms, he found not only Hawke, but Leliana, Josephine, the Iron Bull, and Sera. Jethann couldn't help but smile at the room decorations; they were all Kirkwall colors. Clearly he wasn't the only one who missed home.

"We're still waiting on someone," said Hawke. "But he said we could get started without him."

Jethann slumped into his seat, which prompted Sera to laugh. "You look like shite! You didn't look so bad earlier. Are you, like, some kind of day creature that wilts in the dark? Like some scary Fade monster or something?"

"No, I'm just like a normal person," said Jethann. "I'm not sure if you've noticed, but we tend to get tired near the end of a day."

"Especially if it's a day where one has been given power and responsibility for a major religious organization," added Josephine, smiling comfortingly at Jethann. So diplomatic. Of course, that was quite literally her job description.

"A lot of other things happened too," said Jethann. "For example, I got punched."

"Oooooh," said Sera. "Who did you piss off?"

"Not my fault," said Jethann. "You wouldn't believe the kind of stuff Varric gets me into! Regular troublemaker, that guy."

"Shut up, you," grumbled Varric, dealing the cards. Jethann watched for the number of cards he dealt and smiled. Good, they were playing Diamondback. Jethann would have preferred that to anything but Wicked Grace; his Chanson d'Argent was rusty and he'd never enjoyed Dead Man's Tricks much.

"Notice how he doesn't deny it," said Jethann.

Leliana laughed. "You're right. I wonder what Varric's hiding from us."

"After that book about me? My guess is not much," said Hawke. "Sometimes I think he was too comprehensive. Not all that stuff about Isabela and I needed to be in there."

"It sure did," said Varric. "The audience needs something happy to keep them going."

"Well, I'm glad it had Isabela," said Hawke. "As am I."

Jethann was about to open his mouth to tease her when another voice beat him to it. He definitely didn't recognize this new tone; it was Antivan like Josephine's, but much deeper, a man's voice. The tone was familiar, but only in the way that looking in a mirror was familiar. "Aw, how disgustingly adorable."

He turned his head to see the newcomer, an elf with brown skin and blonde hair pulled back. He was wearing an eclectic set of leather armor that bristled the way clothing does when a fearsome number of weapons are hiding under their layers. The newcomer smirked back at him.

"Ah, you're here!" said Hawke, thumping the table with enthusiasm only a woman who carried a broadsword could have. "Took you long enough. Have you been scouting Skyhold all this time?"

"You can never be too careful when you have half the Crows after you," replied the man. He reached for Jethann's hand, which Jethann offered to him, wondering if he was going to shake it. The stranger kissed it, which made Jethann laugh.

"Inquisitor," said the stranger, winking. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Zevran Arainai, former Antivan Crow, expert assassin, and paramour to the estimable Warden of Ferelden."

"Oh, that's too bad," said Jethann. "You seem like you'd be great in bed."

Zevran laughed, an appealing sound. "I think we'll get along just fine."

"Sit down, will you?" said Varric. "We have a card game to play."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews are a writer's best friend. :)


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